


Exitium Eternal

by Desvenlafaxine



Category: Doom (Video Games), Mass Effect - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:32:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 61,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25962886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desvenlafaxine/pseuds/Desvenlafaxine
Summary: A turian patrol ship encounters a mass relay unlike any other. The peoples of Citadel space and the Terminus have no idea that beyond it lies one thing:Doom.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48





	1. BOOK ONE: REVELATIONS

**BOOK ONE: REVELATIONS  
VOLUME ONE: IGNORANCE (I)**

****

_15th of the Third Umbral Wind, Year 1157 of the Twenty-Sixth Age  
(June 14, 2657 Galactic Standard)_

** TRANSMISSION ENCRYPTION LOCK: RELEASED  
W10-2657 FROM COUNCIL  
ASSIGNMENT TO FOLLOW  
S.A TO ASSIST SECURITY OPERATIONS AT RELAY BLACK  
PRIORITY ONE: MAINTAIN OPSEC RE: RELAY BLACK  
PRIORITY TWO: ENSURE SECURITY OF RESEARCH OPERATIONS  
PRIORITY THREE: ENSURE SAFETY OF RESEARCH AND SECURITY PERSONNEL  
MESSAGE ENDS **

Saren Arterius snapped to alertness in his bunk, pulled up his HUD’s clock and swung out of bed.

_Getting rusty_ , Saren thought sourly as he noticed it was 0605. _Slept in two minutes._ He grumbled to himself as he put opened the tiny room’s single other furnishing - a footlocker - and donned his armour, before making his way out into the corridors of the Citadel Fleet Cruiser _Stalwart_. A minute later, he entered the ship’s bridge, walked over to Captain Cantus Lucidus - an aging, dour turian who Saren had worked with once before - and nodded at him.

“Spectre Arterius,” Cantus replied, glancing away from his command console to return Saren’s greeting. “You’re up early.”

Saren shrugged. “Can’t afford to miss any of the day’s work, Captain.”

“You know, ‘the day’s work’ hasn’t quite started yet,” Cantus replied, a small smile playing about his face. “Not until the research teams finish their next test.”

“Which they will be doing later today - one hour, six minutes?”

Cantus nodded. “Yes, that is the plan. I’m assured by the science teams that they’ve cracked whatever it is that blocks us from using the, ah, modified relay.”

Both men looked out the viewing screen of the _Stalwart_ ’s bridge at the mass relay which had managed to instill fear into the Council itself; it was still a mass relay without question, but its body - which should have been a metallic-blue - was now a dull grey, and the soft-blue glow of its core was an angry, fiery red which beat like the heart of some great beast. Far worse were the pulsing, fleshy tendrils which originated from the core and wrapped around the length of the relay; every so often, the relay would project a spherical array of bizzare, rune-like images.

“I apologize if I came off as, ah, brusque,” Saren said, focusing on the image despite himself. “Seen quite a bit during my lifetime. That thing out there, though - makes my carapace itch just looking at it.” He paused, lowering his voice. “Part of me - small voice in the back of my head - says that we should just leave the damn thing alone,” Saren admitted.

“Ignoring the relay won’t make it go away,” Cantus muttered, rubbing at his fringe. “Despite how much I wish that were true. Still - I wouldn’t worry too much. I hear from the researchers that you just get used to it after a while. I’m not saying that it isn’t unbelievably disturbing, mind you - just that, well, after a while you begin to forget how wrong it all is.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better. If anything,” Saren grumbled, “it make me even more paranoid.”

Both men fell into silence, the bridge silent save for the quiet sounds of the crew working at their terminals; even so, Saren could not tear his eyes away from the foul core of the mass relay or the fleshy tendrils which pulsed in time with the blood-red heart of the core, sigils and runes flashing brightly in the black of space-

“-Spectre Arterius? Saren?” Saren snapped away from the viewing screen to find Captain Lucidus staring at him with a concerned expression. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes - just lost in my thoughts.”

“Ah. I see. Well, the test is about to start, if you’d like to observe.”

Saren nodded, leaning up against a nearby section of hull; the ship’s speakers flared to life as a message came through.

“CFS _Stalwart_ , this is CFRV _Silverthread_ ,” an asari voice said. “We are ready to launch the probe.”

“ _Silverthread_ , this is _Stalwart_ ,” Captain Lucidus replied calmly. “Our signals teams are standing by.”

“Understood. Test probe number sixty-two, launching in three, two, one, launch.”

Saren watched as one of the vessels to the right of the Stalwart fired a small pod - little more than an engine and thrusters wrapped in a metal casing - towards the mass relay. It streaked towards its target, and as it neared the relay flickering arcs of red and brown shot out of the relay and encased the pod.

“Test probe interfacing with the relay, stand by - goddess,” the asari said, voice trembling with excitement, “it’s working!”

The relay flashed a bright neon-red, and for a moment Saren swore he could see an endless void beyond the pod; another moment passed, and the pod winked out of sight as a blinding-white wave burst from the relay’s core.

“BRACE POSITIONS,” Captain Lucidus shouted; Saren clenched his teeth, mag-clamped his boots to the floor and his hands to a nearby handhold. The wave passed through the ship with a shuddering ground, and for a split second Saren felt an overwhelming sense of dread and terror puncture his calm. The feeling passed, though, and he looked around to see the bridge crew: mostly calm, if rather concerned.

“Report,” Cantus barked.

“We’re in the clear,” one of the bridge crew shouted from the signals pit. “Whatever the wave did, it - Spirits! The relay! Look!”

Saren had to force his mouth shut as he saw the mass relay; the tendrils and fiery-red core were gone, and in their place was the relay’s natural metallic-blue body. The core, however, glowed a soothing green, and the projected runes shone a solid white.

“Green,” Captain Luciuds muttered. “Are mass relays supposed to be green?”

“No,” Saren said slowly, “but they aren’t supposed to be on fire or covered in tentacles either.”

“Humour? Now, of all times?” Lucidus clicked at his omnitool, scowling as he activated his comm unit. “ _Silverthread_ , status report.” There was no answer, and Lucidus’ scowl changed to concern. “ _Silverthread_ , status report,” he repeated.

“No response,” one of the signals crew said nervously. “They’re not broadcasting an emergency signal and their running lights are still on - maybe the shockwave damaged their comms?”

“We’re fine. Doesn’t make any sense,” Cantus rumbled. “Keep trying to raise them,” he added, before activating the shipwide comm. “Away team one, stand by for mission.”

“Is that necessary?” Saren asked.

“You wanted work. Now you have it,” Cantus said, staring at the relay.

Saren simply grunted in response and jogged back to his quarters; pulling a rack out of his footlocker, Saren mounted both a shotgun and assault rifle to his back - both well-worn - then stuffed his chest rig with a wide variety of explosives before donning his helmet and making his way down to the Stalwart’s hangar. For the first time since his arrival, the hangar was bustling as engineers prepped shuttles and marines formed up in staging areas. He walked over to the shuttle closest to the airlock loading bay, where a dozen marines in full boarding gear were checking each other’s equipment. They glanced up as Saren approached, stood at attention, and waited as their leader walked over to him.

“Spectre Arterius,” the marine said, saluting. “Thanks for the assist.”

“You can thank me if I actually end up helping you,” Saren noted, offering his arm - which the marine clasped. “Name and rank?”

“Sergeant Plitus Merinian, Spectre.”

“You and your crew seen boarding action before?”

“Yes, Spectre. We’ve done several anti-pirate tours. More breach-and-clears than I can count.”

“Excellent.” Saren gave the marines a quick look-over, then nodded. “Load up and prepare for launch.” Following the marines, Saren strapped himself into a seat in the shuttle’s passenger compartment and waited as the shuttle’s pilot began preflight checks.

“Hey,” one of the marines opposite him said, “captain’s sending a Spectre with us? We expectin’ trouble?”

Saren shrugged. “I’m here in case anything happens, Marine.”

“Brass talk for shit’s going down,” another marine shouted, laughing as he mimed firing a rifle. “Been cooped up on this damn ship for weeks - can’t wait to shoot at something.”

“Stow it, Albinus,” Sergeant Merinian sighed. “Listen up - this is supposed to be a simple check-in. _Silverthread_ ’s gone dark after that shockwave and we’re here to figure out why. This is an intel-gathering and maybe a search-and-rescue op, not a varren hunt. Last thing I need is the Captain ripping me a new one because one of you jackasses shot some poor researcher. Clear?”

“Yes, Sergeant!” the marines barked back.

“Good. Ship’s a standard Citadel Fleet three-decker; maps are already on your rigs. Stay cool, we’ll be fine. Calidus, we ready?” Plitus shouted towards the cockpit.

“Yes sir. Just got launch clearance. Stand by - LC, this is SM-one-two-zero, requesting transfer to launch bay - understood,” the pilot said. “Buckle in, folks - we’re off.”

The shuttle rumbled as the rear hatch sealed and the ship was transferred into the airlock; Saren craned his head and watched as the shuttle left the _Stalwart_. The other ships in the convoy were now moving away from the _Silverthread_ , a research vessel of asari make and styling; by the time the shuttle arrived at the sealed landing bay of the _Silverthread_ the fleet had assumed a loose spherical formation around the silent science ship.

“No signals, but we’ll try anyways,” the pilot said. “ _Silverthread_ , this is _Stalwart_ shuttle M-one-two-zero, requesting you open your landing bay and grant docking permission.” No response came for several moments, and the pilot repeated his request.

“Don’t think they’re going to respond,” Saren said after another minute of silence.

“Alright, plan B,” Calidus muttered. “ _Silverthread_ , you have one more minute to reply. After that, this shuttle will breach the landing bay doors using an entry charge. Any personnel in the hangar are advised to stay well clear of the landing bay.” The minute passed in silence, and Calidus sighed. " _Silverthread_ , we have received no response and will now proceed to breach the landing bay doors. Final warning to anyone inside that hangar - stay away from the doors."

The shuttle positioned itself flush with the _Silverthread_ and rumbled as its underbelly opened; a manipulator extended from beneath the cockpit and planted a gunmetal-grey pyramid on the sealed doors, flat-side down.

"Charge is set," the pilot said. "Here we go - detonating in three, two, one, breach." The pyramid's tip lit up for a split second before exploding inwards in a white-hot flash; the shuttle rammed through the weakened section of hull immediately afterwards and spun as it screeched through the hangar, the rear hatch slamming into the hangar floor.

"We're clear, move!" Saren and the marines all unbuckled themselves and sprinted out of the shuttle, weapons at a low-ready, and fanned out into the hangar - which was, as far as Saren could tell, entirely empty and running on emergency lighting.

“Clear right!”

“Clear left!”

“Clear!” Sergeant Merinian looked over at Saren, then scanned the dimly-lit hangar once more. “No crew?”

“Maybe they got the message about the breach,” Saren mused as he walked over to one of the half-dozen shuttles stowed in the Silverthread’s hangar; he peered inside, found it empty, and shrugged as he moved on to the next shuttle. A thorough sweep of the hangar revealed nothing, and the group stacked by the main doors of the hangar as Sergeant Merinian gestured to one of the marines.

“Lavus, terminal,” Pliltus barked. “I want anything you can find.”

“On it, sarge.” The marine jogged over to a nearby maintenance terminal, omnitool flashing to life; Lavus looked over his shoulder a few moments later and shook his head. “Shockwave must have screwed with the network or something - I’m locked into the hangar partition and getting nothing but error messages when I try to access the logs.”

“Damn. Alright, back here. Spectre?” Plitus asked.

“I’ll take point,” Saren said; he waited for the marines to ready themselves, then hit the manual door release; the hatch hissed open, and Saren sliced the doorway before moving forward into the corridor with his rifle raised. The marines followed closely behind, and they stopped at the lone room between the hangar and the elevator - a small door marked as storage. Saren once again led the way, and looked around the room, which was full of crates, lockers and racks of various scientific equipment. He paused, crouching over the massive collection of spilled drink canisters and half-eaten snacks which were on the floor. "Odd," he said aloud, standing back up.

“What, a bunch of the crew just decided to ditch lunch, drop everything on the floor?” Lavus asked.

“Hey,” Albinus replied, “if the _Stalwart_ got all fucked up by a relay going nuts I’d probably drop my food too.”

“Everyone? At once?” Saren shook his head. “Doesn’t explain where all the crew are. Keep moving.”

The marines followed Saren out of the room and into the main elevator; Saren hit the button for the second deck, and frowned as an error message flashed on the terminal.

"Error," a synthesized voice said. "Research deck remains in lockdown due to hazardous condition: fuel leak, coolant leak, life support failure. Deck lockdown will be lifted upon all-clear from bridge."

"Fuel leak?" one of the marines said nervously. "Spirits, sarge, nobody said anything about a fuel leak."

"Well, we'd better get to the bridge and figure out what the hell's going on then," Plitus said, nodding at Saren; thankfully, Saren’s second attempt to use the terminal allowed him to bring the boarding party to the top deck, and Sergeant Merinian looked at his rifle as the doors closed. “Leak - you know the drill, folks. Low-yield concs, omni-batons. I’m not getting cooked or spaced today.”

The marines all grumbled as they activated their rifles' concussive shot modes and activated their omnitools; several tested flash-fabricating blunt batons from their omnitools. Saren, on the other hand, simply holstered his shotgun, drew his sidearm and let his biotics flare to life around him. Several of the marines flinched or tried to step away.

“Shit, you’re biotic?” one of the marines muttered.

Saren turned to him. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“No,” the marine replied in a tone that was entirely unconvincing. Saren snorted a laugh in response, took a deep breath, and twirled his handgun around as the elevator ascended. A few moments later, the doors opened.

The corridor leading to the bridge was stuffed to near-capacity with corpses; Saren could barely tell what species each one originally was. The bodies had been shoved to the sides of the corridor and stacked to the ceiling, forming a tunnel of meat leading to the next hatch; Saren slowly glanced up, not moving out of the elevator, and flinched as he noticed the thick smears of blood dripping from the ceiling and the strange symbols - almost identical to the mass relay’s runic projections - drawn on exposed sections of the wall using blood, organs and viscera. The floor itself was impossible to see, either, invisible beneath an ankle-high pool of grey-blue blood which was now seeping into the elevator.

Pushing his disgust out of mind, Saren crossed the threshold into the corridor, boots splashing and squelching as they hit the floor - and he paused as he heard something: a mumbling, gasping groan. He turned to his side to find that, half-buried into the pile of bodies, someone’s head was sticking out - a quarian, Saren realized, who appeared to have been torn out of his suit.

One of his eyes was missing. The other was barely open.

“Please,” the quarian managed, his one good eye closing.

“Stay with me, damn you - what happened here?” Saren asked, reaching into the wall of corpses to pull the quarian out. There was a squelch and a crunching noise, and Saren watched in disgusted disbelief as the quarian came free - missing the entire lower half of his naked body, his badly-rent torso barely holding together.

“How the fuck are you still talking?” Saren whispered.

“Please,” the quarian repeated. “Please, please, please-”

“Answers, now,” Saren growled. “Answer me, damn you!”

The quarian closed his remaining eye and fell silent before his shallow breathing slowed to a crawl. Saren was still for a moment before he flashed an omni-blade and slit the quarian’s throat before dumping the corpse onto the floor; he was halfway to the security hatch which lead towards the bridge before he glared back at the marines, all of whom were standing silently in the elevator.

“You guys plan on joining me any time soon?” Saren barked.

The marines followed behind Saren with slow, dreadful steps as he opened the hatch; the way forward was in a similar state to the corridor - bodies everywhere, and the runic symbols painted where the walls were clear. They cleared several crew cabins, a lounge, and a small kitchen, all in the same state of horrifying chaos - but found no other survivors. At last, they arrived at the door to the bridge, and with a deep breath Saren led the way through.

It was as though Saren had stepped into hell itself: the remaining crew, about two dozen, were all naked and gathered together in the CIC, and a small pile of bodies had been heaped onto the main holo-board. The crew were busy chanting in a tongue his translator didn't know, painting those horrid symbols on walls and mutilating themselves with kitchen knives, scalpels and various other sharp implements; the crew were so consumed in their work that they failed to notice Saren and the marines taking up firing positions.

“What in the actual fuck,” one of the marines, Lauritian, hissed.

“Rescue? Fuck that,” Lavus spat. “We should kill’em all.”

“Non-lethals only - we need ’em to talk,” Sergeant Merinian snapped. “Saren?”

Saren shouldered his shotgun, and let off a burst of concussive shots; three of the crew were knocked to the ground, and Saren's eyes widened in disbelief as they simply got back up and screamed so loudly that his helmet's aural dampeners kicked in. The entire crew, as if possessed, all turned, howled together, and rushed towards the firing line.

"Fire at will," Saren said, letting the familiar rush of battle soothe his nerves. The group opened fire, launching barrage after barrage of concussive blasts, yet the crew kept getting back up long after anyone sane - or non-krogan - would have stopped from the pain.

"Medium yields," Plitus shouted, "and go for the legs!"

The marines all began firing concussive shots that were far louder, the bridge filling with the crack-thoom of their fire. The attacking crew were no longer being knocked to the ground; instead, they were being flung backwards into the walls with bone-crunching force. Still, they continued to rise, sprinting back towards the marines even as their twisted and shattered limbs gave out under them. Saren grit his teeth, set his shotgun's concussive force to lethal, and opened fire - and took a step back as an asari researcher’'s head exploded and yet -

"She's still alive?" he shouted in horror, as the headless asari corpse continued to sprint at him. Focus, he thought, firing another shot at her legs; the asari's body from the waist down crumpled from the blast's force, and even still the body continued to claw its way along the floor with its hands.

"What the FUCK IS GOING ON?!" one of the marines screamed, turning to run to the elevator; another marine, screaming incoherently, followed close behind.

"HOLD THE LINE," Saren barked, pushing down his instinct to join them. "LETHAL CONCS! DISMEMBER THE LEGS FIRST AND DON'T STOP SHOOTING UNTIL THEY STOP MOVING!"

The battle raged on for what felt like an eternity, and when the last of the crew was little more than a twitching pile of paste smeared across the bridge's walls, Saren let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, forcing himself to stop shaking.

“Clear,” Plitus managed through chattering teeth. “Sound off.”

Eight of the marines checked in, breathing heavily; four didn't respond, and Saren looked back to find one marine on the ground by the elevator rocking back and forth on the ground, and two standing ramrod-still, unmoving.

“Tanis! Druso! Get your shit together,” Plitus shouted, shaking the two standing marines as his composure returned. One shook his head as he looked at the carnage around him, stammering incoherently - when the other screamed, raised his shotgun and fired a concussive shot at point-blank that blasted Sergeant Merinian into the bridge’s far wall.

“STAY BACK,” Druso roared, waving his shotgun wildly. “DON’T TOUCH ME YOU SPIRITS-TAKEN-”

Saren slammed Druso into the nearest wall, tore the marine’s shotgun from his hands and kicked it away before holding him in place with a biotic field. “Spear Corporal Druso, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Druso - still held in both Saren’s grip and field - began sobbing uncontrollably, struggling furiously to get free as he howled wordlessly; Saren growled, swore, and planted a biotic-enhanced punch into Druso’s helmet with enough force that the marine went limp. Still holding onto the unconcious soldier, Saren turned. “Plitus! You alright?”

“Spirits’ shit,” Plitus spat, getting off the ground with help from Lavus. “You - you knock him out?”

“Yeah,” Saren replied, staring at Druso’s unconcious form. “He’s still alive.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” Saren grumbled, staring at the blood-soaked marines and the gore-covered bridge. “We have to explain all of this shit to someone.”

Silence, for a minute.

“Alright,” Plitus sighed. “Tanis?”

Tanis was standing against a signals terminal, breathing heavily as he nodded. “S-sir! Sorry, sarge, I - I don’t know what happened. Won - won’t happen again. Sir.”

“Good. Druso’s out. We’re missing Faussius and Santux,” Plitus finished. “Anyone know where they went?”

“Got into the elevator, I think,” Lauritian muttered.

“Alright. Alright. Spirits. Lauritian, Albinus, go back to the hanger, figure out where those two are - and get Calidus to prep the shuttle. Lavus - figure out what the fuck happened up here. Rest of you, we keep an eye on Druso. And you, Tanis.”

Saren joined Lavus, and the two both activated their omnitools. “Lavus, check the CIC boards,” Saren ordered. “I’ll see if I can pull anything from the command consoles.” Lavus nodded as he got to work; Saren made his way into the far end of the bridge and activated the command console. He managed to link his omnitool to the console, but recieved nothing more than a seemingly-endless log of error messages and corrupted data; still, he copied and recorded the data he received, and returned to find Lavus cursing as he pried open the base of the CIC’s main holo-board.

“Doesn’t make - any - spirits-damned - sense,” Lavus grunted as he activated his helmet’s light and peered inside the holo-board’s casing. “Wiring is fine. Aux power is on. Omnitool link works - but all I get is errors. Anything on your end, Spectre?”

“No,” Saren grumbled. “Nothing. Same as you.”

“I don’t get it,” lavus said, checking his omnitool. “Everything is fine - scans are good. Maybe it’s got something to do with the second deck getting all fucked up?”

“Plausible.” Saren shrugged. “We’re not going to get anything at this rate - might as well leave this for specialists.”

“Fine by me,” Lavus agreed. “More than happy to get the hells off this deathtrap.”

The group returned to the elevator - one marine carrying Druso over his shoulder - and rode down to the bottom deck. Making their way into the hangar, the group found Albinus and Lauritian standing over the two missing marines, Faussius and Santux, both of whom were curled up in the corner of the landing bay.

“Sarge! They won’t move,” Albinus shouted, waving the group over. “Lauritian tried to get them up, and they both threw their rifles at us,” he added, gesturing to the extra rifles on his and Lauritian’s backs.

“So? Pick them up, throw them on the damn shuttle. We’re leaving,” Sergeant Merinian spat.

Albinus and Lauritian both knelt down and grabbed each of the soldiers, wrenching them to their feet; Faussius fought for a moment before going limp, while Santux struggled weakly. Plitus cursed beneath his breath as the full group returned to the shuttle - the ramp already lowered - and buckled themselves in; Calidus leaned out from behind the pilot’s chair and audibly winced as he took in the group.

“Spirits, and I thought Albinus looked like shit. You guys okay?” Calidus asked.

“Just get us off this damn ship,” Plitus muttered, rubbing at his helmet.

“You got it.”

The trip back to the _Stalwart_ passed in silence, save for Calidus’ request that the convoy move away from the _Silverthread_ and that the _Stalwart_ ’s hangar crew prep a hazard tent; Captain Lucidus was already waiting once the ship docked in the _Stalwart_ 's hangar. The second the ramp lowered, he nearly doubled over, and several of the engineers and hangar crew nearby covered their faces; more than a few actually vomited.

“Is there a reason,” Lucidus asked with barely-held composure, “that you people are covered in gore and smell like a krogan sewer?”

"Crew of the _Silverthread_ went crazy, Captain," Plitus said flatly, remaining on the dropship. "Best for you to see the footage directly, sir."

“Right. Get cleaned up and we’ll debrief. Any wounded?”

“SC Druso is unconscious; he needs to be restrained just in case - blasted me into a wall before Spectre Arterius knocked him out. Have three other men who are in shock.”

“Alright. I’ll be waiting in my quarters when you’re ready.”

A group of deckhands - these ones wearing hazard suits - pushed several crates over to the back of the dropship, and deployed a temporary quarantine tent; Saren went first and was ushered into a decon tube. A few moments later, he stepped out, his armour free of the gory paste that had built up on it, and waited outside for Sergeant Plitus. After another five minutes, the Sergeant emerged, and after glancing back at his men who were being escorted towards the hangar's medbay for a moment, the two walked over to the main elevator and emerged at the top deck. They exited, walked down the corridor to the captain's quarters and entered the already-open doorway to find Cantus sitting at his desk. Both men removed their helmets; Saren stood at attention as Plitus saluted.

"Please, come in," the Captain said, gesturing at the seats opposite him. Saren and Plitus sat down, and Captain Lucidus rubbed at his fringe. "So, would either of you like to explain why the _Silverthread_ \- which was working just fine up until the relay fired that wave - is apparently in danger of exploding, and why you people walked out of your shuttle covered in gore?" He tapped at his console, and nodded at Plitus. "Helmet footage, please," he said. Sergeant Merinian nodded in return and tapped at his omnitool; the projector in Cantus' desk lit up and the Captain watched the footage intently. Once it finished, he looked at the two sitting opposite him and pointed at the looping footage. "Explain. Now. And don't leave anything out, because I'm the one who has to write a spirits-damned report as to what in the hells all...all this is."

“There’s not much to explain, Captain,” Saren replied, shaking his head. “No crew in the hangar deck, second deck suffered some sort of catastrophic failure which lead to a fuel leak, and the, ah, crew. Well, they appeared to have gone completely insane?”

“I - I don’t know what to say, sir,” Plitus said quietly after a moment. “The crew, they fought like - like animals. Would be bad enough, but then - well, you saw it - Saren blew the head off that asari and she just, just kept coming. Same with the rest of them. And the, runes? Pictures? They were all painting the walls and ceilings with blood and gore and whatnot.” Plitus shuddered, closing his eyes. “It’s not, well, natural. Sir. And my men - four of them broke rank. One of them - Spear Corporal Aetna Druso - even shot me, Captain Lucidus. I’ve watched them fight - and win - against overwhelming odds. We’ve all seen some heinous shi - stuff on pirate vessels. Unit’s been decorated twice! But this, it was too much. They just...broke. Sir.”

There was a long, pregnant pause.

“I’m...not a superstitious man,” Saren said slowly, breaking the silence. “But, if I were, I would probably say that this situation was, ah, distinctly of the occult.” He sighed, and shrugged. “I can’t make any sense of it, and I doubt any research team is going to want to go back onto that ship, given the likelihood that the _Silverthread_ is going to explode soon.”

"Alright. Alright, for the sake of simplicity let's just forget about the why behind the crew's insanity and the gore paint and the corpse piles. Why did this not affect the rest of the convoy?" Cantus asked. "The _Silverthread_ 's shielding isn't as powerful as the security vessels in our group, yes, but none of the other research vessels suffered this...breakdown."

"Perhaps it's because the _Silverthread_ was the one that launched the probe?" Plitus offered. "I mean, that's not really a reason, but given how little spirits-damned sense any of this makes..." He trailed off into another bout of silence.

Cantus sighed, and leaned back in his chair. “Why don’t the two of you go get some food and rest. I need to - somehow - write a report about this mess and kick it up the chain.”


	2. IGNORANCE (II)

**BOOK ONE: REVELATIONS  
VOLUME ONE: IGNORANCE (II)**   
  
_  
17th of the Third Umbral Wind, Year 1157 of the Twenty-Sixth Age  
(June 16th, 2157 Council Era)_   
  
  


** TRANSMISSION ENCRYPTION LOCK: RELEASED  
W10-2657 FROM COUNCIL  
ASSIGNMENT TO FOLLOW  
ADDITIONAL PERSONNEL TRANSFERS TO RELAY BLACK ETA <12HRS  
S.A TO CONTINUE ASSISTING SECURITY OPERATIONS AT RELAY BLACK  
PRIORITY ONE: MAINTAIN OPSEC RE: RELAY BLACK  
PRIORITY TWO: CONTAIN FURTHER ANOMALOUS INCIDENTS WRT INCIDENT REPORT W10-2657-230.05B  
PRIORITY THREE: ENSURE SECURITY OF RESEARCH OPERATIONS  
PRIORITY FOUR: ENSURE SECURITY OF CFC _VIGILANT_ AND CREW  
PRIORITY FIVE: ENSURE SAFETY OF PRIORITY PERSONNEL  
PRIORITY SIX: ENSURE SAFETY OF NON-PRIORITY PERSONNEL **

  
  
  
Saren and Cantus stood in silence as one of the _Stalwart_ ’s shuttles flew clear of its parent ship; both men had sent their reports to the Council two days prior, and after quarantining the turian marines who’d broken rank had decided to reinforce the newly-christened Relay 314 with no less than two dozen Citadel Fleet ships.  
  
“Have you worked with Rear Admiral Atruus?” Saren asked, turning his attention to the Citadel Fleet Cruiser _Vigilant_ \- and the asari admiral who technically now held command over security in the area.  
  
“I have,” Captain Lucidus replied quietly.  
  
“Impressions?” Saren smiled at Cantus’ concerned expression. “I’ve already read up on her, but reports and reality aren’t always mutually inclusive. A second opinion would be nice.”  
  
“She’s a career Citadel Fleet officer,” Cantus replied, the stress in his voice dropping slightly. “Calm, collected, competent. Can’t ask for much more.”  
  
Saren nodded approvingly. “That’s reassuring. Something tells me we’re going to need people like that sooner rather than later.”  
  
“I know you mentioned Contact being on the cards in your report - if you don’t mind me prying, what’s your guess at an ETA?” Cantus asked. “I understand if you’re not allowed to share the details-”  
  
“-no, no, it’s fine. Frankly, I’m surprised we haven’t been contacted by whatever’s beyond Relay 314 already,” Saren muttered, glancing around himself despite the two being the only occupants of the shuttle’s passenger compartment. “I proposed that we raise readiness for FC with the expectation that it might happen any second now; the Council wasn’t necessarily pleased by that, but they reinforced us all the same, no?”  
  
“I’d thought about that,” Cantus replied quietly. “I suppose an old man like myself wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of it happening before preparations are fully in place.”  
  
“It’s the obvious answer,” Saren replied with a shrug. “We do the best we can with what we have.”  
  
“You seem awfully calm about the prospects of First Contact with a species that could...corrupt, for lack of a better word, a mass relay like that.”  
  
Saren shook his head. “Of course I’m calm. It’s my job. Make no mistake, I’ve got no desire to get into a fight with whatever or whoever caused the incident on the _Silverthread_ , but the Council employs me to solve problems, not to be afraid of them.  
  
Cantus’ expression soured for a moment and he opened his mouth - yet he said nothing, and his frown settled into something approaching discomfort as he stared at the rapidly-approaching hangar of the _Vigilant_ in silence. It wasn’t until the shuttle had landed within the _Vigilant_ that Cantus’ discomfort resolved into his usual calm, and as both he and Saren descended the shuttle ramp they were greeted by the sight of the _Vigilant_ ’s engineers working on unpacking various crates and performing maintenance on shuttles; standing just beyond their now-docked shuttle was a tall, wiry asari whose warm, welcoming smile was at odds with the calculating look in her eyes.  
  
“Spectre Arterius, Captain Lucidus,” Juturna Atruus said, returning Cantus’ salute and nodding at Saren. “A pleasure to work with you again, Captain Lucidus, and I look forward to working with you, Spectre. If you’ll follow me, I’d like to begin going over contingency plans in addition to discussing the measures both of you outlined in your report to the Council.” She led the two over to an elevator built into the side of the hangar and within minutes the three were seated in her personal quarters, decorated sparsely with little besides a few medals on her desk.  
  
“If it’s alright with you,” Saren began, “I’d like to first hear your thoughts about the Contact section of my report.”  
  
“I agree with most of it. I mean - I think it’s likely we’ll be dealing with the...organization or persons responsible for modifying Relay 314 in the near future,” Juturna replied hesitantly. “Whether that’s going to happen now, tomorrow, next week - I can’t say, but the fact that there wasn’t an immediate response leads me to believe that we haven’t, say, opened a direct line of travel to a populated area of space. In any case, while I’m happy to be here with the rest of the escort fleet I’d be much more comfortable with double, triple the ships, some gun platforms - you get the idea. As for your conjecture? About ‘alternative technological bases’ and the like?” Juturna sighed. “I have no idea.”  
  
“You watched the footage I sent with my report?” Cantus asked.  
  
Juturna nodded stiffly. “I did,” she said, pausing as she closed her eyes. “I’m just going to dispense with the formality here - I know both of you tiptoed around saying it, but to be honest we might as well be dealing with witchcraft. Did the Council give you any updates regarding the status of the marines under your command who broke rank, Captain Lucidus? Spear Corporal Aetna Druso, in particular?”  
  
“No, they didn’t,” Cantus answered.  
  
“And you didn’t receive any information either, Spectre?”  
  
“No, not that I’m particularly concerned,” Saren replied with a shrug. “I’m a Spectre, not a surgeon. I assumed the Council - or the Spectre Office - would update me with any relevant details.”  
  
Juturna snorted. “Well, perhaps it would be nice for you two to be up to speed? While most of the marines look to be fine, if a bit shaken by the events they witnessed - more than justified, in my opinion - Spear Corporal Druso remains afflicted by, ahem, ‘a psychosis of unknown origin,’ according to the documents I was cleared to read.”  
  
Saren and Cantus looked at each other with something approaching alarm.  
  
“Psychosis.” Saren blinked, expression flattening as he considered the word.  
  
“He speaks in tongues when he thinks he isn’t being observed, and he’s also been copying those runes you saw on the _Silverthread_ ,” Juturna explained, shaking her head. “Someone tried to take away his drawings for further analysis, and Druso nearly tore the man's eyes out with his bare talons. Five such incidents happened within two hours of Druso’s intake."  
  
“Spirits,” Cantus breathed.  
  
“Now - the Council has charged me with maintaining security around Relay 314, and ensuring that if First Contact does happen that things go smooth - relatively smooth - until some actual diplomats can get a handle on the situation,” Juturna added. “My point is - while I respect your opinion, Spectre Arterius, somehow I get the feeling that us sitting here and pointing every gun we can find at that mass relay really isn’t going to do a whole lot of good in terms of providing a concrete defense,” Juturna continued; she held up a hand as Saren prepared to interrupt her. “That doesn’t mean I’m suggesting we, ah, not do so regardless - just that we need an alternative plan as backup. Guns aren’t going to solve any, say, sudden outbreaks of madness aboard our ships.”  
  
“Of course they can,” Saren replied simply as he nodded thoughtfully. “We contain and immediately kill anyone who shows signs of, well, madness.”  
  
“You can’t be serious,” Cantus sputtered. “What - what are you going to say? ‘Message to all fleet personnel, nothing serious, just make sure you’re armed at all times and be ready to execute your crewmates if they look at you funny?’ Most of the fleet isn’t even up to speed on what happened to the _Silverthread_ \- as far as they know, it suffered a fuel leak and was destroyed. That’s it.”  
  
“We’re dealing with something we can barely comprehend,” Saren retorted, “and until the people poking around in SC Druso’s head can figure out something concrete I don’t want us to be off our game because we didn't have the spine to do what was necessary.”  
  
“You’re suggesting we inform the entire fleet,” Juturna said, “against the orders to prevent information leaks regarding the _Silverthread_?”  
  
“I’m suggesting that I inform the fleet - I’m a Spectre. I answer directly to the Council - and while they don’t always like me, my opinions, or my methods, they still call on me time and time again,” Saren answered matter-of-factly. “Let’s say aliens come through that relay and do - do whatever it is they did to the _Silverthread_ to some of our ships. We’re at knife range - every single gun on every single ship is going to count, and if we can prevent a repeat of what happened to the _Silverthread_ ’s crew by executing five, ten, twenty people? Then yes, we should absolutely inform the fleet. If you’d like to think in less calculating terms,” Saren added after a moment, “we also owe it to the personnel under your command, Rear Admiral. How would you like to be sent into a possibly hostile situation without the intel you need?”  
  
Juturna’s expression soured, but she nodded nonetheless. “As distasteful as I find it, I agree. Captain Lucidus?”  
  
“This is insane,” Cantus muttered. “What in the hells are we even talking about? I mean, really.”  
  
“Yes or no, Captain,” Saren pressed. “You don’t have to like it.”  
  
“We - fine. But we need to figure out a way for you to word this right, or the entire fleet’s going to descend into chaos,” Cantus grumbled.  
  
“That’s fine. The entire fleet’s nearly finished moving into defensive posture anyway,” Juturna noted with muted pride. “Everything else from here on out is readiness and drills; taking the ti-”  
  
All three paused as an alarm rang through the ship and the speaker in Juturna’s desk lit up.  
  
“XO Maela to all personnel, Signals reports incoming transit via relay, ship origin and signature unknown,” a salarian voice reported. _“Vigilant_ moving to condition two.”  
  
Juturna immediately got out of her seat and opened a locker next to her bed, throwing off her jacket as she unpacked her hardsuit. “Saren, bridge - I’ll meet you there. Cantus, back to your ship. Go!”  
  
By the time Saren arrived on the bridge of the _Vigilan_ t, the entire crew was sealed into hardsuits and in position at their stations; Juturna arrived only moments later and the two walked over to the main CIC holoboard, watching in tense silence as the mass relay - which had been, up until now, glowing green and projecting runes - shifted back to its normal blue. With a visible intake of breath even beneath her armour, Juturna cleared her throat and spoke with iron in her voice.  
  
“This is Rear Admiral Atruus to the Relay 314 Defensive Line. We have incoming First Contact. All ships standby on battle stations, condition red, second positions," Juturna said into her comm. She was about to make some sort of rallying cry when the incoming ship popped into normal space, and any words she had been preparing failed her.  
  
The ship - if it could even be described as one - was a gargantuan black behemoth, vaguely trapezoidal, covered in pulsating red runes not unlike the ones the relay had been projecting. Saren’s mind raced as he dug up memories and did calculations in his head; he’d managed to see the Destiny Ascension up close about a month prior, and by his most conservative estimates this floating box had to be at least six or seven times larger. The entire bridge watched in silence as the new arrival drifted slowly towards the fleet, and despite his calm Saren could feel a gnawing sense of dread in the back of his mind telling him that the fight was already over.  
  
 _Focus, Saren. Think. Calculate. Kill. Always as easy as that._  
  
"Stay cool, people! Hardpoints stand by to deploy. Signal teams, prepare to broadcast First Contact Packet One," Juturna ordered, her voice somehow calm.  
  
"Understood, ma'am," someone replied. "Prepa- hold on, they're launching something!"  
  
"Weapons?"  
  
"No, ma'am, looks like some sort of shuttle or dropship - it's heading towards us," another voice said nervously. "Should I go ahead and broadcast the FCP?"  
  
"Do it."  
  
The projectors placed at the front of the _Vigilant_ lit up and began to display various sequences of shapes, numbers and colours, followed by holograms of the many Citadel races and then of the Citadel itself. Saren watched with held breath as the shuttle which had been approaching suddenly stopped. Moments later, the shuttle projected sequences back using the same shapes; then, an image of various two-legged aliens which resembled asari with hair on their heads and a variety of skin colours, all garbed in simple tunics, standing next to a variety of aliens who looked nearly unrelated to their asari-like companions. The shuttle's message repeated twice, and Saren watched as one of Juturna’s crew leaned out of his seat to face her.  
  
"They're broadcasting on open frequencies, ma'am," the turian man said. "Should I bring it up?"  
  
"Do it."  
  
The CIC’s holoboard shifted, and Saren had to physically keep his mouth shut as the feed showed what was presumably the bridge of the incoming shuttle: its gunmetal-grey interior was decorated with runic inscriptions, cloth banners and strange lanterns that reminded Saren more of the old shrines on Palaven, rather than an actual spacecraft. Two figures stood in front of the camera, both wearing plain grey cloaks over massive, bulky-looking suits of armour; the male - Saren guessed - had a small patch of black hair running along the middle of his olive-skinned head, and he wore a sidearm and some sort of saw-toothed blade at his waist. Next to him, a woman - who, with her shaved head, looked shockingly like a pale asari minus the fringe - appeared to be quite a bit taller. Her armour, a dull green instead of the man’s grey-blue, was covered in small scratches and scorch marks; unlike the unadorned suit which the man wore, dozens of small, golden-coloured cylinders hung from her armour on the shoulders and waist. She, too, carried one a strange many-toothed blade at her waist, but the long, boxy firearm attached to the other side of her waist was far too large to be a sidearm. A third figure - perhaps a younger female - knelt at the woman's side, and Saren shuddered as she noticed the glowing runes carved into the younger woman's bald skull; her armour was also dull green, as was the sash she wore instead of a cloak.  
  
All three spoke together; their tone seemed to be polite, though of course nobody aboard the _Vigilant_ had no way of understanding them. A few moments later, the feed was replaced with an image of their shuttle moving towards the _Vigilant,_ then going inside of it, followed by a simple diagram of the aliens leaving their ship to meet with symbols aboard the _Vigilant_ which she assumed to stand in for her crew. Juturna replied in the affirmative, smiling, and she followed her message with a diagram of a hatch opening on the underbelly of the _Vigilant_. All three of the aliens nodded, and their feed cut out.  
  
The bridge was silent for several moments.  
  
"What in the actual fuck," someone whispered.  
  
"Language," Juturna said, getting out of her seat. "XO Maela, you have command. I need an escort and the contact team with me to the secondary hangar," she said into her comm as she left the bridge with Saren in tow; they both looked at each other with poorly-held composure as they entered the main elevator.  
  
“You know, I think that went rather well, all things considered,” Saren muttered.  
  
“Are you joking?”  
  
“I don’t joke.”  
  
“I’m serious, Spectre,” Juturna spat. “This is going far, far too well - too easy - to make sense. We just - what - show each other contact packages and everything is alright? And please - you saw how enormous their ship is,” she added, “and not to mention the fact that they have those...runes, like the relay and the _Silverthread_ had.”  
  
Saren shrugged. “Yes, their ship is large. Unnaturally so,” he said, frowning at the incredulous look Juturna gave him. “And their runes - I’m not a fan of those either. But until they prove themselves to be openly hostile, we might as well try and make things work.”  
  
“I didn’t peg you for an optimist,” Juturna said, staring at the wall.  
  
“I’m not,” Saren replied, patting the shotgun and rifle on his back before staring at the sidearm Juturna carried. “You should stop at the armoury on the way down to our little meeting, Rear Admiral.”  
  
“Contact protocol, Spectre Arterius.”  
  
“I think,” Saren said slowly, “that this time an exception might be in order.”  
  
Juturna snorted, and the rest of the elevator ride passed in silence; Saren simply did his best to remember the contact training he'd received, running over hours of half-remembered lectures and exercises. The elevator arrived at the secondary hangar not long after, and they exited to find engineering teams preparing the airlocks and security teams taking up defensive formations all around the hangar; Juturna paused as they walked towards the airlock farthest from the elevator, took a detour into a nearby corridor and returned with a shotgun locked to her back.  
  
“Better,” Saren said approvingly. “Still - if those aliens come out running, you stay behind me and get to the nearest shuttle bay. Got it?”  
  
“I’m older than you are, Spectre,” Juturna muttered. “No need to be condescending.”  
  
“Apologies. Just trying to be cautious.”  
  
They walked over to the airlock where the alien shuttle was docking and stood in silence for several more minutes before one of the engineers turned to face them.  
  
"They're here, Rear Admiral."  
  
"Let them in," Juturna said, adopting as dignified a stance and expression as she could; Saren simply stood at attention next to her. Seconds later, the hangar-side of the airlock hissed open, and the shuttle - a boxy, black brick, not unlike the larger ship it had launched from - descended before slamming into the hangar floor without so much as lowering a landing strut. The side of the craft opened, and four of the aliens, fully encased in their grey armour and wearing their toothed-blades and sidearms, marched out; Saren guessed they were maybe on the closer side to eight feet tall, and their armour thudded and clanked as they flanked the shuttle's entrance. All four aliens slammed their fists together and shouted as three aliens from the feed - the ones from the previous feed, Saren assumed, going by their cloaks and sash - all wearing helmets, marched out of the ship. The woman in the grey armour turned and slammed her fists together as well, and the four escorts fell into formation behind the trio, who now approached Juturna as she stepped forward to greet them.  
  
"I am Rear Admiral Juturna Atruus of the Citadel Fleet," Juturna said as they approached, “representing the peoples of the Citadel and the Councils. It is an honour to receive you.”  
  
The man paused before removing his helmet, and he grinned.  
  
"No, milady, it is my honour," the man said in what Saren’s translator took to be perfect Thesserit - the sort a newscaster for the Citadel News Network might speak - a wide, warm smile on his face as he and the other aliens knelt before her on one knee. “I am known as Jon Grissom, Lord Admiral within the Order of the Knights-Errant and master of the Sixth Crusade Group; I speak to you now as a representative of the Exalted Exitium, of humanity, of the Redeemed, and all those who would stand together and with you against the endless tides of Hell beneath the guiding hate of the Doom Slayer! Glory to Him, for blessed is He! Amen!”  
  
Juturna could not help but glance back at Saren - who, in turn, could not muster anything more than an overwhelming expression of confusion.  
  
Juturna simply stared at the man for a moment before blinking several times. "Uh, yes. Um. Thank you. I, ah, see that you are able to understand me and you already speak Thesserit - may I ask how?"  
  
Jon stood up, clipping his helmet to his waist. "I am wearing a rune of cognizance, Rear Admiral," he replied, head cocked slightly. "I figured your peoples would also be carrying them, but that it wouldn't hurt to bring my own. Is that not the case?"  
  
"Rune?" Juturna asked. "Like the ones on your ship and its banners?"  
  
"No, those are inscriptions," Jon replied, his expression inquisitive. "I'll reach into my armour, if that's alright."  
  
"Go ahead,” Juturna offered; despite the peaceful offer, Saren couldn’t help but loosen his hands and make ready to draw one of his weapons.  
  
A small compartment on the side of Jon's armour hissed open, and he withdrew a small disc that seemed tiny in his massive gauntlets. He held it in an open hand; the disc itself was a polished beige, engraved with a complex series of glowing blue symbols arrayed in a spiral. "It's not the most up-to-date of our runic technology, but certainly reliable."  
  
"But how does it allow you to comprehend my speech, and grant you knowledge of Thesserit?" Juturna asked, her tone level.  
  
"I don't understand the question," Jon replied, confused. "Do the peoples of your Citadel, your Councils, not have rune magic?"  
  
There was a long pause; Juturna glanced at Saren, who simply stared back in disbelief.  
  
"I'm sorry, did you say magic?" Juturna said slowly.  
  
"Rune magic, to be precise," Jon said.  
  
"It is possible," the woman next to Jon noted in a rasping voice, "that they do not possess runic magic, Lord Admiral. How many branches of sorcery exist? How many more might there be?”  
  
"Yes, that's true, Abbess Shepard," Jon replied, tapping the rune-disc against his chin thoughtfully. “If not rune-magic, then, surely you have some sort of translatory sorcery - perhaps of a hermetic or theurgic sort?”  
  
"My apologies - when you say magic and sorcery," Juturna said carefully, "you do mean - you are referring to...miracle making? Effecting change in a non-scientific manner?"  
  
"Well, no," Jon replied in a tone that suggested concern. "Miracle making, that would be theurgy, and magic is certainly scientifically and logically consistent, as is sorcery. Do you mean to suggest that you and your peoples are not familiar with magic?"  
  
"We are," Juturna replied, "but for us magic occupies the realm of myth, legend and the charlatan."  
  
The alien delegation all exchanged glances, and the expression on Jon's face darkened. "Slayer protect," he said slowly. "You mean to say you have been fighting the forces of Hell without the assistance of sorcery? It's certainly possible, but I would be lying to say that I would not miss its absence in combat."  
  
"Ah. Right. That was the other matter I wanted to discuss before we moved on," Juturna said with ill-concealed disbelief. "When you mentioned the 'tides of Hell,' you were speaking in metaphorical terms, co-"  
  
"-you jest!" the young woman standing at Abbess Shepard's side said in an incredulous tone.  
  
"Sister Nought!" Hannah hissed; the young woman flinched and made a curious sign with her right hand over her chest. "Please, forgive her - she is but an acolyte, concerned more with duty than with diplomacy - her transgression will not stand-”  
  
"-it's, uh, alright," Juturna replied. "But my question - I would still like an answer.”  
  
"Rudely as Sister Nought may have put it," Jon said carefully, "I must echo her sentiments. You know nothing of Hell and its demonic spawn? You and your peoples have not, do not face the minions of Doom, foul servants of sin and evil, in open combat?"  
  
"I'm afraid not," Juturna said lamely; Saren could barely hold back his laughter at the absolute absurdity of the situation. "The peoples of the Citadel certainly don't live in world free of evil but I can say with one-hundred-percent surety that we have never had to fight the...ahem, spawn of the underworld?" She flinched as Abbess Shepard and the other guards with her fell to their knees with enough weight to send an echoing clang through the hangar, eyes wide and expressions one of pure awe.  
  
"His will,” Hannah whispered, an expression of purest rapture on her face. “His strength, His shield, His power!” The Doom Slayer protects,” she roared; Saren could swear the woman was holding back tears. "The Doom Slayer protects! A land untainted by Hell and its corruption - Slayer bless us, this is joyous news!" She signed the symbol Sister Nought had made, and the rest of the humans followed suit.  
  
"The Doom Slayer protects," Jon agreed, nodding. “In His anger are we all made whole.”  
  
"Ah....very well. In any case, why don't we move to somewhere better suited to continue our discussion, rather than standing around in this hangar?"  
  
"I find the idea agreeable," Jon replied. "Come, Abbess, there will be time for prayer later."  
  
"The conference room is just at the end of the hall past this hangar - please, follow me and the escorts," Juturna said. She nodded at her escort detail and Saren, and led the motley group out of the hangar; they made a right at the corridor and walked over to a large conference room at the end of the hall. Juturna hoped with all her might that the chairs - which were designed to handle krogan - would withstand the bulk of the humans, and she inwardly sighed in relief as she sat across from Jon and Hannah; the other humans remained standing at attention.  
  
"Ah, before we begin, milady," Jon said, "I would hand over some materials for you and your peoples. I shall seek to illuminate our society - and I assume you will do so in kind - but I figure the giving of hard-copy information and gifts is acceptable?"  
  
"It is, though of course we will have to subject the items in question to security checks."  
  
"Of course. Sister Nought, if you please." Jon turned as Sister Nought pulled a slim, wooden case from her breastplate and proffered it to the Lord Admiral with both hands; he took it, and set it on the table. "This case contains the Volumes of Unity, an abridged physical tome containing the most pertinent elements of our history, religion, culture, and language as well as an unabridged copy on a datastick. Also contained within are several runes of cognizance, as well as some runes of illumination - gifts, for those who wish them."  
  
"Thank you," Juturna replied; Jon slid the case across the table, and she passed it to one of her men. "Lieutenant Aral, please take this to the hangar and have it undergo the proper checks."  
  
"Yes ma'am," the salarian said, clearly happy to be leaving the room. He grabbed the case and walked out at a brisk speed; Juturna returned her attention to the humans before her.  
  
"Before we continue," Juturna said, her tone grave, "I do have some pressing concerns regarding your...ahem, magic."  
  
"Oh? In what way?" Jon replied thoughtfully.  
  
"A few days ago, we discovered the mass relay you emerged from - covered in tendrils and its core red instead of blue. We attempted to send a probe through the relay, but in doing so activated some sort of shockwave."  
  
"Oh, goodness, yes, that would be our rune-lock," Jon said, nodding. "The Lazarus wave - did it happen to affect some of your people adversely?"  
  
"Adversely? Yes. Yes, you could say that," Juturna replied. "Shortly after the mass relay fired the shockwave, the crew of the ship which launched the probe suffered a catastrophic...breakdown."  
  
"Oh, no," Jon said softly. "Do you have footage?"  
  
"I do. It is the opinion of some of my superiors that having you shed some light on exactly what happened to the crew of the ship in question, the _Silverthread_ , holds just as much import as establishing formal relations with your Exalted Exitium." Juturna pulled several helmet-cam recordings and photos taken from the _Stalwart_ 's expedition into the _Silverthread_ , and pulled them up on the table's holoprojector; she shuddered as the footage of the blood-rivers, corpse-piles and insane crew began to play. The room fell silent as the humans watched, and a few minutes later Jon sighed.  
  
"I am sorry for the losses inflicted upon the crew of the _Silverthread_ ," Jon said, his face steeped in sorrow. "The systems we use to prevent the forces of Hell from utilizing spatial tunnelers - ah, mass relays, to use your words - both the rune-lock that seals the relay and the Lazarus Thorns which either kill or cause madness in any would-be demonic trespassers were not designed with the unwarded in mind. We...we simply never considered it seriously, and now we must face the consequences. Am I correct in noticing that the corrupting influence of the proto-Gore Nests and the unholy inscriptions within the _Silverthread_ caused some of the soldiers tasked with clearing the ship to suffer breakdowns?"  
  
Saren cleared his throat, and Juturna nodded at him. "That's correct, Lord Admiral. Spectre Saren Arterius - I led the team into the _Silverthread_. Not only were the crew of the ship unnaturally" - he refused to say supernaturally - "hard to kill and ferally violent, several of the marines who fought with me either broke down or broke rank; one even fired upon his own commanding officer These are men who were no stranger to combat or its dangers, Lord Admiral, and I admit even I, an elite warrior, was unusually nervous during the fight."  
  
"The dangers of exposure to Lazarus waves, unholy artifacts and demonic inscriptions without proper inoculation are well-documented - we will be sure to pass that along," Jon noted. "The Exalted Exitium will be happy to provide recompense for this...tragedy borne of our own ignorance. This ship, the _Silverthread_ , did you cleanse it?"  
  
"The reactor went critical due to multiple fuel leaks and points of failure not long after the expedition returned," Juturna replied. "Nothing remains of the ship."  
  
"Thank the Slayer. And the marines who suffered breakdowns from their exposure?"  
  
"Back on the Citadel. All of them are in observation and recovery, save for the soldier who fired upon his CO; that man is in quarantine,” Juturna noted. “He’s been overserved, ah, undergoing an ongoing psychotic break; he has been speaking in tongues and copying the runes he saw on board the _Silverthread_.”  
  
Jon's eyes went wide, and he glanced over at Hannah with a terrified expression that the human woman returned. "Slayer's shit," Jon whispered. "The Citadel. Is it a densely packed mega-station? And am I correct in understand that it houses critical aspects of the Citadel races' governments? Your Councils, perhaps?”  
  
"Yes, it is heavily populated, and it does hold important functions of governance," Juturna said slowly.  
  
"Listen carefully to me. You need to send a message back to the Citadel, now, and you must order the immediate isolation of the soldiers who suffered breakdowns. As for the poor sap who has been inflicted with corruption, he must be executed at once." Jon leaned forward, eyes wild. "This is not up for negotiation, Rear Admiral. If you do not do this, you place of all the Citadel and its peoples at risk of demonic incursion, and without the resources or know-how to fight the unholy there will be catastrophic losses."  
  
"I...excuse me," Juturna replied, "I understand that we're - the Citadel - is clearly dealing with an outside-context problem, but we're not in the business of jailing men for undergoing trauma. And as for Spear Corporal Aetna Druso - we will not execute him, not without finding a cur-”  
  
"What, without finding a cure? There is no cure!" Hannah half-shouted. "Milady, if the condition of the marines worsen or the isolated one breaks free, you will have a literal invasion from Hell on your hands in less than a day. Unless your people are spontaneously able to learn the methods and modes of anti-demonic warfare-"  
  
"-there it is again," Saren said coolly. "Demons. Literal invasions from Hell. You mean it, don't you?"  
  
"Why would I lie about a matter as grave as this?" Hannah snapped back.  
  
"Abbess," Jon said in a cautioning tone.  
  
"I'm not accusing you of lying, Abbess - just making sure we're clear. Most - if not all all - of my superiors and our society at large does not believe in the supernatural, at least not in a literal, day-to-day sense," Saren explained. “Your insistence that you fight the literal spawn of the underworld lacks...context.”  
  
"Sister Nought, the projector, please," Jon said, watching as Jennifer pulled a disc from her sash and placed it on the desk. It lit up a few moments later with what appeared to be helmet-cam footage; the recorder was one of many warriors clad in armour that resembled Abbess Shepard's, and all carried enormous firearms. The dozen or so human warriors were marching through a dust-swept valley of some sort, a midday sun beating down on them.  
  
"There," one of the warriors shouted. "The map indicates that the nest is in that cave."  
  
The warriors marched towards the mouth of a small cave; the interior was lit by glowing runes which hung from the ceiling and the walls were smeared with blood. The group descended into the cave, following the only available passage, and as they walked the grey rock walls began to shift into a bloody red that was indistinguishable from the blood which covered it. Moments later, the descending, winding tunnel gave way to a large chamber, the ground impossible to see beneath a knee-high pool of shining red blood, and at the very centre of the chamber Saren could see a massive pile of corpses - not unlike the one the _Silverthread_ ’s crew had been building - surrounded by a variety of strange creatures; some were brown-skinned, naked and had long, three-clawed hands, while the others resemble humans with rotting flesh and exposed bone, their faces twisted into disgusting, stretched horrors. The creatures were chanting and dragging more corpses out of the bloody muck beneath their feet, and the warrior at the front of the group drew a weapon like the one on Abbess Shepard's hip in his right hand, and one of the toothed-blades in his left.  
  
"KILL THE DEMONS BEFORE THEY OPEN THE PORTAL!!" the warrior shouted, as the blade whirred to life with a sputtering, angry buzz, the teeth whirring into a furious blur. "IN HIS NAME, KILL!"  
  
The warriors charged forward and Saren could only watch in awe as they leapt headlong into melee range of the foul creatures as they fired their guns; most turned to engage the humans, though some remained, furiously screeching and chanting over the corpse-pile. The human warriors fought like nothing Saren had seen before - and he'd once watched a dozen krogan kill a thresher maw in person. The brown-skinned monsters threw orbs of fire and rent great tears in the armour of the humans, but to no avail; the humans slashed gaping, spraying wounds with their chainswords, blasted limbs from the demons with point-blank shots from their firearms. Suddenly, the cave - dimly lit by the ceiling runes - burst with a blinding red light; there was an awful screeching noise, and in an instant all of the blood was sucked into the corpse pile. The pile - the nest - twisted and pulsed as the corpses fused into a great mountain of meat; dagger-like teeth sprouted at the top of the pile and an angry red orb ripped out of nothingness above it.  
  
"The gore portal opens! Hold fast, and kill faster! The Slayer demands it!" someone shouted.  
  
The battle raged on, the recording warrior barely paying notice to the demons - and they must be demons, a small voice in the back of Saren’s mind whispered - now pouring out of the gaping red hole above the gore nest. Rather, the warrior simply continued to fight, killing dozens of the brown-skinned monsters, when a massive thud knocked the warriors to their feet; the recorder looked up, and there stood behind a literal wall of demons one that towered above the rest: a great eyeless biped beast which howled and screamed before charging the warriors. The recorder screamed in fury, tossing his gun and blade away before drawing a glowing red orb from his chest rig; he smashed it into his helmet, and an ominous red glow enveloped his fists.  
  
"SLAYER! GRANT ME YOUR HATE! RIP AND TEAR!" he shouted, before charging forward.  
  
"BERSERK! BERSERK! BERSERK!" the warriors shouted, their voices a mix of joy and excitement. "RIP AND TEAR!"  
  
Juturna watched, as the recording warrior screamed, running directly towards the wall of demons standing before him with his left arm wound back; the brown-skinned creatures formed a wall in front of the great beast and threw a wall of fire which the warrior simply ran through as though it was simply not there. He emerged from the fire within melee distance of the demonic horde and Saren’s jaw dropped in awe as the warrior punched the demon and it exploded with enough force that its limbs rocketed off its body like shrapnel, tearing through the foul beasts standing nearby. The recording warrior tore through the demon ranks like a rocket-powered blender, every punch and kick smearing its target into chunks of gore and fountains of blood. The fight - slaughter, really - lasted less than a minute, and soon enough the warrior was standing before the giant demon atop a pile of demon meat. The giant demon hunched over and screamed, stomping the ground as if to challenge the warrior which had just slain its minions, and the warrior roared in response.  
  
"RIP AND TEAR," the warrior shouted, looking up at the monster which towered over him. "RIP AND TEAR YOUR GUTS! YOU ARE HUGE! THAT MEANS YOU HAVE HUGE GUTS!"  
  
"HUGE GUTS!" his comrades screamed in agreement.  
  
The great beast charged the warrior at blinding speed, grabbing the warrior in a massive, crushing grip, and in a split second the warrior headbutted the demon so hard that its chest caved inwards, then tore his way through the demon. Both halves of the now-dead creature thudded into the ground with a sickly thump. The warrior turned as his the red glow which had enveloped him began to fade; his comrades joined him, and one of them returned the recorder's chainsword and firearm.  
  
"Brother Izunami! An excellent showing," a female voice said, clapping the recorder on the shoulder as he checked his chainsword. "More like that and you'll do just fine on your next round of testing."  
  
"You flatter me, Lady Durand," Izunami said, falling to one knee.  
  
"Bah! Enough nonsense, boy, to your feet!" The woman strode forward towards the gore nest and pulled a long, rune-covered knife from her belt, before plunging it into the pulsating heart of the nest; there was a horrific screaming noise, and the nest suddenly exploded into a wild spray of meat-paste.  
  
The projection began to loop, and Jon waved a hand over the projection disk, the display winking out before he returned the device to Sister Nought.  
  
"So you see - if any of the afflicted soldiers manages to gather a pile of bodies, he will be able to open a portal to Hell without any trouble," Jon said, shaking his head. "Your Citadel, if it is as large as I am thinking, will have no shortage of nooks and crannies that will allow a skilled warrior to do such a thing without detection. And without the martial skill or enchanted weapons those warriors possessed..."  
  
There was a long silence, and when Juturna spoke it was in a slow, cautious tone.  
  
"Alright. I see your point, much as I wish I didn't believe what you're showing me. I'll forward my recommendation, then, that the marines be placed under isolation for medical reasons, and that the afflicted soldier be...executed, as soon as possible.”  
  
"I did not say recommendation, Rear Admiral. There can be no hesitation - it must be done, and it must be done immediately. There is no time for debate or consideration,” Jon replied. "No person of moral standing enjoys the execution of a corrupted soul, an innocent lost to Hell - but it is a necessary duty, milady. I have been burdened with the duty of cleansing more times than I wish to count, and yet I have rest easy each time knowing that I have saved many more lives by taking a single one. I have watched children - children, you must understand - who have been granted the power to tear men limb from limb after their corruption went unchecked," Jon said, eyes frantic. "I am begging you to make the right decision, for all our sakes."  
  
"I'll recommend his immediate execution," Saren said after a moment. "Spectre's orders."  
  
"Your reasoning and candor is appreciated, Spectre Arterius," Jon said with a bow of his head.  
  
"Let me note, though, that this death is on the hands of the Exitium," Saren continued coldly. "You've stated that you will compensate for the losses your security system inflicted, and I will hold you to that - especially in Aetna Druso’s case."  
  
"Of course. I cannot purify the poor soul, nor can I return the life of Sir Druso - which is now forfeit," Jon said, expression sorrowful, "but you have my and the Exitium's word that the families and friends of those afflicted by our lack of foresight will never want for care and comfort. I swear this upon the Doom Slayer's name and on the honour of my soul."  
  
"Good," Saren replied. “You have my thanks.”  
  
"It is no trouble. Would it be fair, then, to adjourn for a while, such that you may contact your peoples and we our own?" Jon asked. "Some time for you to read and transmit the contents of the Volume of Unity and run the physical copy back to the Citadel - in addition to the judgement on the corrupted, of course."  
  
"That is fair - we have detailed information on the languages and cultures of the Citadel available here," Juturna replied, pulling a stack of dataslates from her pocket. "One of my men will instruct you on the use of data-slates - will your, ah, runes allow you to read the information without trouble?"  
  
"Yes, they will," Jon replied, "and in turn simply wearing one of the runes of cognizance we have provided near the body will allow an individual to comprehend our texts. Such measures will have to suffice until we can formulate a runic translation matrix."  
  
The group exchanged several more items and soon Juturna was watching the humans board their shuttle, having agreed upon reconvening in a few hours; before they'd even left she'd pulled Saren aside to the corner of the hangar in a private office.  
  
“We’re in trouble,” Juturna whispered, composure sagging in the privacy of the room. “We are in big fucking trouble. How do we explain any of this to the Council?”  
  
Saren stared at her, then at the ceiling, then at the door.  
  
“No idea,” he muttered, “but there’s going to be a lot of paperwork involved.”


	3. INTERLUDE I: THE SPECTRE

**INTERLUDE I: THE SPECTRE  
  
19th of the Third Umbral Wind, Year 1157 of the Twenty-Sixth Age  
(June 18th, 2157 Council Era)**  
  
  
Saren got up from the bench as Juturna exited the Council Chambers; the asari wore a tight smile on her face which stuck Saren as neither forced nor terribly genuine.  
  
“Rear Admiral,” Saren said, clasping Juturna’s proffered arm. “How’d the meeting go?”  
  
“Ah, well, Councilor Sparatus only questioned my competence and, ahem, ‘ability to carry out my duties in a professional manner’ twice, so I think that went better than expected,” Juturna sighed, glancing around the corridor they were standing in. “They’re open to meeting with the Exitium representatives, but they’re still not entirely sold on the whole, ahem, magic...situation.”  
  
“It’s not as though I’m entirely sold on it either,” Saren muttered, scowling as he sank back onto the bench with an audible clank. “I don’t know what’s worse, magic being real or the Exitium having technology that might as well be magic.”  
  
Juturna sat down next to him, and glared at the floor. “I need several drinks.”  
  
“So do I.”  
  
Silence held for a moment; both watched a pair of Lower Council members scurry through the empty halls and into a side hall.  
  
“We’re in deep shit, aren’t we,” Juturna groaned into her hands.  
  
“You know, when I saw that ship of theirs,” Saren replied after a moment’s pause, “for a second I’d thought we were about to get spaced. Managed to stay calm though - I mean think about it. They’re terrified of these demons of theirs, right? Magic or not, they’re mortal. Old saying from someone I served under - don’t be afraid, be tactical. Think, calculate, kill.”  
  
“Well we’re past the thinking stage,” Juturna grumbled. “Right now, the calculations don’t look so good.”  
  
Saren opened his mouth, closed it, and instead sighed as he mulled over the contact documents the Exitium’s representatives had given to Juturna, and by proxy, the Council; they spoke casually of their faster-than-light engines moving at ten thousand light-years per hour, of how they could teleport spacecraft, of how their entire existence as a society was constructed around and molded by fifty thousand years of constant war.  
  
“If even half of their claims are remotely true,” Saren said bitterly, “we’re not in deep shit - we’re knee-deep in a damn sew-”  
  
“-the Council will see you, Spectre Arterius,” a salarian said from up the hall as the doors to the Council Chamber opened once more.  
  
“That’s my cue,” Saren said, getting up. “When are you leaving the Citadel?”  
  
“Ah, tonight. I’m needed back at Relay 314 to, ahem, ‘oversee ongoing security during this time of unprecedented crisis.’ Apparently.” Juturna shrugged and shot Saren a half-smile. “I’ll stick around?”  
  
“Sure,” Saren replied, nodding. “We’ll see.”  
  
He was ushered into the private Council Chambers beyond the main hall which the Council usually convened in; all three of the Councilors were seated at a round conference table with a holoprojector at its centre which was displaying a map of the area surrounding Relay 314.  
  
“Spectre Arterius,” Fallox Sparatus said, gesturing at a table across from the Councilors. “Please, have a seat.”  
  
Saren did as he was told, managing to remain silent despite the obvious looks of concern on the faces of his superiors.  
  
“We’ve read your report, Spectre Arterius,” Herane Tevos began cautiously, “and we are...concerned by the degree to which you are willing to take the claims of the Exalted Exitium at face value.”  
  
“We lack information, Councilor Tevos. As such, we operate from a weakened position. Until the peoples of the Citadel - especially the Big Three - can confirm or deny these details,” Saren explained calmly, “we should assume the worst and plan from there.”  
  
“Even if these details speak of magic? Of demons and the spawn of the underworld?” Saral Valern snorted, tapping a finger on the table idly. “You’ll excuse me if I find that disagreeable at best."  
  
“Councilor Sparatus, I shot an asari on the Silverthread with a concussive blast powerful enough that it obliterated her head. She continued to attack me - even after I did the same to her legs. You have the footage, Councilors,” Saren continued flatly. “You, too, can watch the headless, legless corpse of a researcher claw its way across the floor towards me. You don’t have to believe it’s magic - I’m not sure I do - but whether or not I can logically explain what caused the events aboard the Silverthread really doesn’t matter. It happened, and so we should plan around it.” He shrugged, and smiled pointedly at Councilor Sparatus. “I’m sure that if you gave my incident report - and just that report alone, without all of the information the Exitium has given us - to the Hierarchy Executive Summit they’d arrive at the same conclusion.”  
  
The Councilors looked at one another, then at Saren.  
  
“To be perfectly honest,” Saren added, “my instinct is to think that they’ll remain friendly. All of their contact information packages - which, I might add, we can read thanks to their magic rune disc...things - focus on their religious crusade against what they call Hell; it’s literally all their society cares about. So long as we don’t stop them from carrying out their war, I get the distinct feeling they’ll just leave us alone. Of course, you know this already, because I’ve stated as such in my report.” Saren smiled and shrugged.  
  
“Spectre Arterius,” Councilor Tevos replied, “what makes you think the Exalted Exitium isn’t going to make us join their mad crusade? You noted it yourself - all their soldiers look more like something out of the religious wars of ancient Palaven, what with their worship of their war god and zealous nature. Surely such noble, faithful crusaders would be very happy to, ah, recruit the vast population of Citadel space for their war? Forcefully, if necessary?”  
  
Saren shrugged again. “Hard to say. One of their representatives - Abbess Shepard, I believe? - was on the verge of tears when she found out that we’re not part of their ‘War Eternal,’ and unless she happens to be an accomplished actor and a career soldier I really don’t think she was pretending. Oh, I’m sure they’ll attempt to recruit us, but - well, you’ve read their Volumes of Unity, no? I don’t even think these people really get the idea of not being at war. I hesitate to speculate, since at this point I’m more or less just guessing, but they’d probably think more in terms of protecting us, instead of making us fight their war. I’m no diplomat, but even I can see how you could ta- ah, incorporate that into your negotiations.”  
  
“Your candor is, as usual, appreciated,” Councilor Tevos replied after a loaded pause. “We’ll take your remarks into consideration as we move forward - thank you. You’re dismissed, though we ask that you remain on the Citadel for the foreseeable future; I think your presence will be a stabilizing influence during the upcoming negotiations with the Exitium’s diplomats.”  
  
“I understand. If that’s all,” Saren said, getting to his feet; the Councilors nodded at him, and he left the Council Hall; Juturna was waiting for him at the end of the corridor by the main elevator.  
  
“So?” Juturna asked as both entered the elevator; she winced at his dour expression. “That bad?”  
  
“I don’t even know at this point,” Saren grumbled. “This whole situation is a colossal crock of pyjack shit anyways.”  
  
“That’s some strong language.”  
  
“I get tired of speaking diplomatically quite easily. I told you before - I’m not an orator,” Saren grumbled. “There’s a reason why the others joke about ‘pulling a Saren,’ you know.”  
  
“Others?” Juturna asked.  
  
“The other Spectres.”  
  
Juturna folded her arms, adopting an inquisitive look. “And what, exactly, is ‘pulling a Saren,’ if you don’t mind me asking?”  
  
“Call someone to negotiate, then kill them while they’re en-route,” Saren replied, eyes glazing over as he recalled several memories fondly. “Works very well if you’re on a spacecraft or station - doesn’t matter what species you are, or how many goons you have, once there’s no air to breathe, you die like the rest. Honestly it’s worked more times than it should have - you’d think criminals and the like would start learning at some point. What?”  
  
“You’ve very, ah, excited about discussing spacing people,” Juturna answered, chuckling slightly. “It’s both amusing and kind of disturbing.”  
  
“I’m a professional - good at my job. One of, if not the best. Nothing wrong with taking pride in your work,” Saren replied with a frown. “Besides - I’m a Spectre, not some...crazed gunman, or something. I don’t kill people without a good reason, but I figure if people need to die you might as well be efficient about it.”  
  
“You know, there are rumours that despite your youth, you were a Blackwatch operator back in the day,” Juturna noted matter-of-factly. “I get the sense those might not be rumours.”  
  
“Even if I was - and I’m not saying I was,” Saren replied with a smirk, “that would be classified above your security grade.”  
  
“So that’s a yes. Good to know. Good to know,” Juturna muttered as the elevator doors opened; they fell silent as they entered the Council Hall’s concourse and made their way over to the private garage reserved for VIPs. “Well, I’m going to head home and try to get some sleep in my own bed before I leave - and maybe fit a few drinks in somewhere.”  
  
“Contact me if you find time for those drinks,” Saren said, clasping arms with Juturna before she got into an aircab. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” he muttered to himself, “I have an execution to oversee.”

* * *

**TURIAN HIERARCHY EXECUTIVE SUMMIT PRIORITY ONE  
EMERGENCY SESSION: FIRST CONTACT WITH EE [JUNE 18 - 2657]  
DOCUMENT TYPE: SUMMARY, FOR IMMEDIATE DISSEMINATION TO DIVISION ONE PERSONNEL  
MAXIMUM SECURITY / SUB-CLEARANCE DIVISION TWO FC-TYPE / EYES ONLY**

  
First Contact establishment with the Exalted Exitium represents the largest potential upheaval in the security balance of the Citadel since the Krogan Rebellions, and even with the limited intelligence available to the Hierarchy at this time there is no question that the citizens of the Exitium, whether they realize it or not, pose a grave threat to galactic stability as we know it. Putting aside the matters of the supernatural and magical, the mere fact that a civilization that numbers in (at minimum) the trillions appears to be entirely composed of religious zealots is supremely concerning. Thankfully, ties have remained cordial with Spectre Saren Arterius, who was happy to share his impressions thus far; though his overall time with the representatives of the Exitium has been limited, his preliminary reports indicate that the Exitium's ambassadors (at this time) have been friendly. The problem remains,however, that the members of Citadel space are ill-equipped to handle an influx of citizens who are violently zealous about their "War Eternal" against the literal demonic forces of Hell, not even counting the ramifications of a society whose industrial output supposedly dwarfs the combined economic power of the Turian Hierarchy, the Asari Republics and the Salarian Union combined. We can express our hopes that the situation remains optimal - that the Exitium's citizens will take no offense at the Citadel's lack of religion - but we must face the very real threat that the optimal situation is not the one we will be met with.  
  
Even assuming that the Exitium has grossly exaggerated the size and scope of their civilization (which, in the opinion of this session, it most likely has not) the Citadel's members are not in any way, shape or form prepared for an extended conflict against a numerically-superior foe operating from an alternate base of technology. Defensive posture orders have already been issued, but this session remains worried about the possibility that if friendly negotiations are not rapidly achieved with the Exitium, that it may attempt to exert pressure - hard or soft - on the Citadel's members to assist it in its religious crusade. While the Citadel's members thankfully have resolved the vast majority of its geopolitical tensions, on a socioeconomic level defenses are not in place to handle matters on this scale. The Department of Finance is currently working in their own session to discuss possible ramifications of contact with the Exitium as well as estimations of their industrial output; future meetings with include involved members once their preliminary reports are finished.  
  
Regarding the Exitium's claims of magic and supernatural power, while it is our immediate reaction to doubt said claims the testimony and footage obtained from Spectre Saren Arterius are hard to discount; regardless of the degree to which the Exitium's claims of "magitechnology" are true, one cannot dispute the fact that they possess technology that is derived from a base wildly different to anything we are familiar with. Spectre Arterius has noted that the Exitium is, at least according to its representatives, fully willing to share this information without hesitation because (as stated by Lord Admiral Jon Grissom of the Exitium) "Hell does not discriminate against what species it corrupts and kills, only that its victims can be corrupted and their souls harvested to fuel their demonic affronts to the Slayer's will." Whether that statement is an implicit understanding that the gifting of this technology comes with an assurance that the Citadel's members and by extension the Hierarchy will join the Exitium's "War on Hell" has yet to be determined; the possibility that the Hierarchy may very well not be in any position to refuse an offer of such value also remains to be determined.  
  
Spectre Arterius has also expressed concern with the "demonic runes" found aboard the Silverthread prior to its destruction, as well as the apparent ability of anyone corrupted by this "demonic" power to open portals to Hell. (Orders are already being carried out to isolate the afflicted marines in question, as well as the execution of the one soldier who the Exitium has stated to be beyond saving.) The fact that any civilian with enough drive could construct one of these so-called "gore nests" and easily get away with it thanks to the vastness of Citadel Space is not a threat to be taken lightly, and while we are fully capable of keeping this information under lockdown for the immediate future once relations are solidified with the Exitium (who apparently have been dealing with gore nests for long enough that information regarding their construction is public knowledge) keeping that information under wraps will be nigh-impossible without obvious media blackouts.  
  
Also of note is the fact that, in a less formal conversation between Spectre Arterius and Abbess Hannah Shepard of the Exitium's Church of the Slayer (an elite religious military order), Abbess Shepard stated that "it is entirely possible that your peoples did indeed encounter the forces of Hell in its infancy; many of the primitive pre-industrial races the Exitium has come across faced limited incursions from Hell. As a matter of course...many of the ancient records that we have from our own times pre-First Age speak of demons and Hell, and...while it is just as likely that those records are the simple fears of primitive turian society you should not discount the very real chance that in those texts you will find a sliver of truth." While none of the individuals at this session are well-versed enough in ancient turian history to speak officially on the matter, Agent [REDACTED] did note during their university studies in ancient history that some experts believe the origins of the Spiritus Legatos can be found in religious warrior organizations which, based on the Agent's (admittedly far from perfect) recollection, at least superficially resemble those of the Exitium's. The matter has been deemed a matter of national interest and the Department of Defense has contacted several individuals in order to look into the matter, if only to get a better understanding of how the Exitium sees itself.  
  
The working goals produced by this session are threefold. One, facilitate and maintain friendly relations with the Exitium for as long as possible while intelligence-gathering operations to verify the Exitium's claims are carried out. Two, accelerate defensive posture shifts both in the fields of military materiel and on an economic front (brainstorming sessions are ongoing amongst the Department of Finance.) Three, continue development of wargaming scenarios emulating worst-possible outcomes.  
  



	4. INTERLUDE I: THE MARINE

Saren got into the next available aircab, activated its manual controls and drove towards Chalua Hospital as fast as he could without drawing attention to himself; making judicious use of his Spectre clearance to use several transit tunnels normally reserved for Lower Council members and other diplomats, he arrived at the hospital in under ten minutes. Ignoring the somewhat alarmed and confused looks given to him by the civilians and hospital staff waiting in the lobby, Saren simply walked through the nearest set of doors marked “Authorized Staff Only,” found an empty freight elevator and rode it down to the hospital’s second-lowest level.  
  
The doors opened to reveal a long, narrow, well-lit corridor painted in sterile white; if not for the fact that the ceiling panels bore nearly-invisible indentations for concealable ceiling-mounted turrets - probably firing fabcrete or less-lethal shock rounds, Saren guessed - one could conceivably mistake it for just another part of the hospital. At the far end of the corridor, the hall expanded slightly to accommodate a pair of armchairs placed in front of a reception desk, behind which stood an imposing security hatch whose reinforced construction and grey-black colour was very much at odds with the rest of the hall. Seated in one of the armchairs was Sergeant Plinus Merinian; he was conversing with the asari who manned the desk, though both stopped and turned once they heard Saren approach.  
  
“Spectre Arterius,” Plinus said, jumping to his feet. “You’re here!”  
  
“Yes, I am,” Saren replied flatly as he clasped Plinus’ arm; he turned his attention to the orderly. “Doctor Moreith Serellis,” he said, reading the woman’s name tag, “I was under the impression that this area was off-limits to the general public.”  
  
“It is,” Moreith replied, nodding. “But Sergeant Merinian here - well, he wanted to see his friend before the, ah, execution is due to take place. While I’m not cleared to bring him beyond this point-”  
  
“-you were hoping that I would authorize that?” Saren interjected.  
  
“Yes, Spectre,” Plinus muttered. “I - I don’t know why he’s being killed. Doctor Serellis says he’s not doing too well, and - and I just - I at least wanted to see him before, you know - do we have to? And why? I get that he broke rank and attacked me, but surely that’s not grounds to just kill him?”  
  
Saren rumbled uneasily as he considered the request, before sighing and shrugging. “So long as you don’t have any physical contact with him, I don’t see the harm. And yes, he will be executed - so consider this a chance to say goodbye to him. As to why, you’re not cleared to know that, but given the information I’m operating off of I highly doubt you’ll fail to see why it’s necessary. Doctor Serellis, what have you told Sergeant Merinian?”  
  
“Nothing, besides the fact that Mr. Druso isn’t in any shape, mentally or physically, to be seeing unauthorized visitors,” Moreith explained. “I followed standard procedure, save for allowing the Sergeant here to have a seat.”  
  
“Good. He will accompany me until I oversee the execution,” Saren said approvingly; Plinus shot a look that was half-pleading and half-fury at him, and he frowned in reply. “I don’t like it any more than you do,” Saren said as reassuring as he could. “Duty first, marine.”  
  
“If you’ll follow me, then.” Moreith keyed in several codes on her omnitool, and the security hatch slowly opened; beyond lay another corridor, this one lined with dozens of doors on each side. The asari led them over to a doorway marked “Maximum Security Patient Observation 2,” ushered them inside and shut the door behind them; the observation room contained a single desk and holo-terminal displaying a feed of Aetna Druso sitting in a padded cell, scribbling furiously on a large stack of papers.  
  
“Spirits, that’s a lot of paper,” Plinus muttered, craning forward to examine the video feed more closely. “He’s filled up an entire trash can with the stuff - but, I don’t know, he looks okay?”  
  
Moreith nodded. “That’s correct. Ah - what is Sergeant Merinian cleared to know, Spectre Arterius?”  
  
“The same things the orderlies are cleared to know,” Saren replied.  
  
“Ah. Well - Sergeant Merinian - may I call you Plinus?” Moreith asked.  
  
Plinus turned away from the terminal for a moment. “You can, sure.”  
  
“Plinus, Mr. Druso might look fine at the moment, but I can assure he’s anything but,” Doctor Serellis explained slowly as she keyed in a command on her omnitool; the feed of Druso’s cell minimized, and the display showed a series of brain scans. “Aetna Druso has been in our care for about two days now; it’s standard practice for us to carry out observatory scans during intake. Since he’s arrived, it doesn’t matter what’s he’s doing - sitting in his room, watching holos, sleeping - his brain is firmly in a flight-or-fight mode, except there’s no flight crossing his mind. Let me reiterate that, Plinus: when he’s fully asleep, his brain’s aggression centres are still running at full blast.”  
  
Plinus stared, wide-eyed. “Okay, that’s not good, sure, but - that’s not grounds to kill him, is it?”  
  
“In the two days that he’s been with us,” Moreith continued, “he’s attacked - and in many cases, seriously injured - just about every orderly who has tried to bring him food, supplies, or otherwise help him. He also chants in some sort of nonsense language constantly - though he’ll stop if he thinks someone is listening - and he’s also been copying the runes you saw on the Silverthread, almost without pause since he arrived. You’ll note the papers? We gave those to him because, without paper or dataslates, he’ll make those runes in his food, scratch it into the walls with his talons, or even try and make them with his spit.” Moreith shook her head sadly. “Frankly, Plinus, I don’t think there’s much left of the man you know in his head, and it’s only getting worse.”  
  
“You’re not cleared to know precisely why Spear Corporal Druso is being executed,” Saren said quietly as he put a hand on Plinus’ shoulder, “but you’re a smart man. Given what we saw on the Silverthread I think you can guess where this is going, Sergeant.”  
  
“I - damn it all, I know, I know,” Plinus said softly. “Can - can I at least see him? One last time?”  
  
Saren looked up at Moreith; she nodded at Saren, and Saren pat Plinus’ shoulder. “Of course, Sergeant. Of course.”  
  
Druso’s cell was two doors down from the observation room; as the three approached, the armed turian guard outside shook his head.  
  
“I’d be careful if I was you,” the guard said uncomfortably as he stepped away from the door. “He’s doing the chanting thing again.”  
  
Plinus and Saren both leaned towards the one-way observation slot; within, Druso was frantically working through his stack of paper, covering them with the unnatural runes all while chanting beneath his breath; despite not being able to make out exactly what he was saying or understanding what the runes Druso was drawing meant, some part of Saren’s mind urged him to go for his sidearm and kill Druso at that very second.  
  
“Whenever you’re ready,” Moreith said, snapping Saren back to calm, “I’ll turn on the communications system and set the slot to two-way.”  
  
“Please,” Plinus said.  
  
The door chimed and Druso stuffed his papers into the overflowing wastebasket next to his desk. "Hello? Doctor Merelis? Is that you?"  
  
Plinus glanced over as Saren nodded at him, and he put on his best smile. "Hey! Aetna, it's me! Plinus!"  
  
"Oh, spirits bless, are you here to get me out?" Aetna said happily, walking over to the slot. "They've got to let me out - I know I was scared during the expedition but I didn't do anything wrong. I’m sorry I - I’m sorry I shot you - but I didn’t do anything, okay?”  
  
"It’s okay, man, it’s okay - I know, I know," Plinus said reassuringly. "Still, they just want to make sure you're okay."  
  
"Okay? Fuck you, man, I'm fine," Aetna shouted, his eyes wild. "I'm FINE! Fine, I'm fine, I'm fine."  
  
"Well, I'm sure they'll release you soon, Dru, you just gotta wait a bit."  
  
"They'd better," Druso growled, staring off into the space beyondPlinus. "I've got so much work to do, you have no idea!"  
  
"Work, huh?"  
  
"Busy, yeah. Got a lot of stuff I wanted to do on the Citadel," Druso said, smiling.  
  
"What about going back to the marines?"  
  
"Oh, uh...yeah, right, like going back to the...the marines, to serve the...Hierarchy," Druso said, nodding. "You'll put in a good word for me, right? Get me out of here real quick?"  
  
Plinus didn't respond for a moment.  
  
"Well? Are you? ARE YOU?" Druso shouted.  
  
"Yeah, buddy, I'll speak to the brass."  
  
"Good. I mean, thanks," Druso replied, nodding vigorously. "Sorry, being cooped up in here's making me antsy, especially when I've got so much to do, you know?"  
  
"I know," Plinus said. "Look, I gotta go. Nice seeing you."  
  
Druso simply grinned in response as the slot returned to one-way observation only, and Plinus closed his eyes; Saren peered back around the corner as the slot returned to one-way observation, and scowled as he saw Aetna return to making more runes.  
  
“Spirits,” Plinus muttered. “I didn’t think he’d be that far gone already.”  
  
“Nobody wants to see him dead,” Moreith replied, “but at this point I honestly don’t think there’s much left of Aetna Druso the marine. And soon, I don’t think there’s going to be any of him at all.”  
  
"I...fuck. Spirits, I have to tell his family," Plinus whispered, doing his best to remain stoic. "What the fuck am I gonna tell his lil' sis?"  
  
“You can say that he died on the Silverthread, because as far as anyone else is concerned, that’s true,” Saren said severely. “Until orders say otherwise, that’s the story you’ll stick to. Is that clear?”  
  
Plinus stared at the floor in silence for a long moment. “I - yes, Spectre. Understood.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
“Damn it all. I suppose I should just be glad I’m the one standing on this side of the door.”  
  
"You should." Doctor Serellis smiled warmly and touched him on the shoulder. "Look, you've been through a lot and so have your friends. I know it's tough, but I recommend you try and relax as best you can - and if you need to talk the hospital has counselling services waiting for you.”  
  
"I know, I know," Plinus replied, shaking his head. "You know if Druso had just been shot or something I'd be a lot more okay with all of this. Just...don't know how to deal with what's happening to him, you know?"  
  
"I understand how you're feeling," Moreith replied. "In any case, why not try and take your mind off things?"  
  
"I...can I be present? For-”  
  
"No,” Saren interrupted. “The protocols and nature of the execution are classified, Sergeant. In that vein - if you could please escort Sergeant Merinian out,” Saren continued, nodding at the guard standing nearby; he stayed silent until Plinus was past the security hatch at the entrance to the ward. “Doctor Serellis - have the preparations been made for the execution?”  
  
“They have, Spectre. To be honest,” Moreith said distastefully, “I’m more familiar than I’d like with the tranquilizer system. Once we adjusted the dosages - that was more or less all we had to do.”  
  
“Mmm. Good,” Saren grunted, unholstering his sidearm and flicking its safety off. “If you’d knock him out, I can take care of the rest.”  
  
“Of course, Spectre.” Moreith punched in several commands into her omnitool; a few moments later, it pinged quietly. “The tranquilizer gas is flooding the room right now; it’ll take a few minutes to ensure proper saturation.  
  
“That’s acceptable. Your people are ready to handle the disposal afterwards?”  
  
“All of our cells are modular,” Moreith explained. “Once you, ah, ‘cleanse’ the room, we’ll simply seal it, eject it from the corridor’s frame and have it destroyed.  
  
Saren didn’t reply; the two watched in silence for a few minutes as Druso continued drawing, slowing down slightly, until suddenly he seized, keeled over and appeared to be fast asleep, snoring.  
  
“Scans confirm that he’s in deep sleep,” Moreith noted quietly. “Purging the gas - and - done. I’ll unlock the door.”  
  
The secured hatch to Druso’s cell hissed slightly as it slide open; carefully, Saren aimed his handgun at Druso’s head and fired twice, then once more for good measure. Next, he opened a compartment in his armour, tossed a small high-power incendiary charge onto Druso’s corpse, sealed the door, and detonated it; the entire room lit up in a massive wall of flames which consumed everything flammable within. Five minutes later, a smoking pile of char and ash lay where Druso and his papers once were, and Saren scowled as he recalled the final instructions given to him by the Lord Admiral.  
  
 _Never relied on the Spirits before_ , Saren thought as he stared at the smoking remains, _but I’ve done all I can_. _If you do exist, do your damn duties this time and keep him dead. Permanently, please._  
  
Moreith sighed, and checked her omnitool as it went off once more; Druso’s cell-turned-grave shuddered, and disappeared from view as it was detached from the wall. “That was...odd,” she said uneasily.  
  
“Odd. Understatement of the century,” Saren said sourly.  
  
“I know I’m not cleared to know very much,” Moreith added after another pause, “but something tells me that this wasn’t a one-time sort of thing. Should I be, ah, expecting more cases like Mr. Druso’s in the near future?”  
  
Saren opened his mouth, closed it, and thought for several moments.  
  
“Classified,” he said eventually. “If that’s all, I’ll be going. I needed several drinks in me yesterday.”


	5. VOLUME TWO: TERROR (I)

**BOOK ONE: REVELATIONS  
VOLUME TWO: TERROR (I)**   
  
_21st of the Third Umbral Wind, Year 1157 of the Twenty-Sixth Age  
(June 20, 2657 Galactic Standard)_   
  
  


**TRANSMISSION ENCRYPTION LOCK: RELEASED**   
**W10-2657 FROM COUNCIL**   
**ASSIGNMENT TO FOLLOW  
DIPLOMATIC PERSONNEL FROM EE TO ARRIVE AT CITADEL APPROX 0900  
S.A TO ASSIST FC SECURITY OPERATIONS AND ENSURE SMOOTH FC  
PRIORITY ONE: ENSURE SAFETY OF COUNCIL  
PRIORITY TWO: ENSURE SAFETY OF EE PERSONNEL  
PRIORITY THREE: ENSURE CORDIAL RELATIONS WITH EE & EE PERSONNEL UNTIL NOTED OTHERWISE**   
**PRIORITY FOUR: LIAISE WITH EE PERSONNEL FOR PASSIVE INTEL**   
**ALL OTHER PRIORITIES SAME AS PREVIOUS**

  
  
Saren arrived at the hangar reserved for the ship bringing the Exitium’s diplomats an hour before they were due to arrive; a small army of Citadel Security and Citadel Port Authority personnel, all armoured and armed, were scurrying about the spacious room, conducting last-minute security checks and waiting at various staging areas. Nobody paid Saren - a single armoured man - any mind, until he’d made it about halfway towards the landing bays; he heard a vaguely-familiar voice call out to him.  
  
“Spectre Arterius?”  
  
He turned to find a turian C-Sec captain standing next to a cluster of small prefab buildings, flanked by several dozen other officers; seeing that Saren was approaching, the man nodded to his colleagues, sending all but two of them running off to other positions.  
  
“Spectre Arterius, I know we’ve communicated via mail but let me say that it’s an honour to be working with you,” Captain Castis Vakarian said as he clasped Saren’s arm; Castis’ two assistants - a batarian and an asari - both stood at attention.  
  
“No need to be formal,” Saren replied, waving a hand dismissively. “You did an excellent job with the routing for the Exitium’s convoy - it looked much the same as what I was thinking.”  
  
“Thank you, Spectre,” Castis said with muted pride. “I only wish we’d had more time - two days is, ah, unusually short notice between the announcement of First Contact negotiations and, ah, it actually taking place.”  
  
Saren shrugged. “We just do our best - it’s all the Council can ask for. Preparations?”  
  
“Security along the aircar route is in place - final check-in will be in five minutes. Otherwise,” Castis replied, gesturing around the hangar, “we’re ready. As ready as we can be.”  
  
The batarian officer - one Staff Sergeant Kophim Sarnogar, according to Saren’s HUD - tentatively raised a hand, and spoke once Saren nodded at him. “Spectre, uh, I understand if I’m digging a little too deep here, but our briefing materials really didn’t say a whole lot about the Exitium’s diplomats. Or the aliens who, you know, are coming here. Actually, the briefing stuff didn’t say a whole lot of anything, besides the fact that they’re bringing several species with them, that they speak our languages and to, ah, ‘be tolerant of their religion and to keep an open mind,’ which really doesn’t help me do my job.”  
  
“I understand, Staff Sergeant,” Saren replied with a sigh. “Much of this information is classified - at least for the next few days - simply because the Councils - especially the Lower Council - is having a difficult time determining what should and shouldn’t be released to the public at this time. From my limited experience, I will note that all of the Exalted Exitium’s personnel have been friendly, at the very least - and that if your briefing were to call them ‘very religious’ you should take that as an comically stupid understatement.”  
  
Castis, Kophim, and the asari officer - Staff Sergeant Isena Sharo - looked at one another with ill-hidden alarm; the asari spoke before Saren could continue.  
  
“Okay, I’m just going to say it because nobody else has the quad to do it - this whole ‘Eternal Crusade’ thing of theirs is total pyjak-shit, right?” Isena scowled. “Because there were at least three pages dedicated to how we are absolutely not in any way, shape, or form insinuate that their thousand year war against demons or something is complete garbage - not that I’m going to do that, thank you very much,” Isena said, raising a hand before Castis could open his mouth, “but I just wanted some confirmation. For myself.”  
  
“Classified,” Saren replied flatly. “At least for now - and that’s fifty thousand, not one. If their claims are true, the Exalted Exitium has been waging their religious war long before any of the Citadel races were capable of walking, let alone doing things like achieving spaceflight. Or using toilets. Frankly I don’t care if it’s true or not - they feel like it’s true, which means until otherwise noted we treat them as such. Understood?”  
  
“Yes, Spectre,” Isena replied with a roll of her eyes.  
  
“Good. Although I will say I am interested to see what their civilian - or at least non-military - personnel look like,” Saren added with a smirk. “Their Volumes of Unity were a little light on pictures. I hear some of their, ah, ‘honour guards’ look like the turian knights of ancient Palaven - shining armour and all.”  
  
Castis let out a low whistle. “That’d be something. I mean they all already carry their - Spirits this is ridiculous - chainsaw swords, no?”  
  
“Just the so-called Honour Guard. I imagine their role is more ceremonial than functional,” Saren pointed out with a shrug.  
  
“Knights, huh,” Isena muttered, scratching her chin. “I don’t buy it. Who’d send ceremonial guards to a First Contact meeting? I mean - yeah, sure, you need to look good during Contact or whatever, but you’re telling me these people are going to be relying on guys with swords and plate armour to protect them?”  
  
“I’ll put creds on it,” Kophim replied with a shrug. “From the briefings - and your testimony, Spectre - they sound insane enough to do it.”  
  
“I thought we all agreed to not to bet in front of our superiors?” Castis grumbled, looking up from a dataslate. “Especially a Spectre?”  
  
“It’s fine,” Saren said with a smile. “So long as the two of you can carry out your duties despite the fact that one of you is going to be short on cash shortly, I fail to see the problem.”  
  
Any cheer Saren might have had drained away slowly as the countdown to the negotiations progressed; when the call came in announcing the arrival of the Exitium ship, Saren’s focus was razor-sharp and his mind crystal-clear. Even so, he let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in when the alien spacecraft came into view at the far end of the hangar; unlike the imposing black box he’d seen at Relay 314, this was very clearly a less military-oriented craft; a dull-green ship, shaped not unlike a Drell-made punch-knife and covered in hundreds of runic inscriptions, slowly flew towards the hangar’s landing clamps with a distressing lack of noise. All movement ceased as the ship locked into the specially-reserved ship bay, and with anticipatory silence the personnel within the hangar watched as a long, slender ramp extended from the underbelly of the alien craft.  
  
A procession of two dozen massive warriors clad in shining silver armour with green half-cloaks stomped down onto the hangar floor, their clanking footsteps sending rhythmic echoes through the spacious room; even knowing what to expect, Saren couldn’t help but shake his head in slack-jawed awe at the sight of the massive chainswords hanging from their hips, which stood out all the more given the knights’ conspicuous lack of (visible) firearms .  
  
“Holy fucknuts, you weren’t joking,” Isena whispered, joining the chourus of concerned muttering which was passing through the hangar. “They’re knights in plate with swords! They’re not even carrying guns!”  
  
“Pay up,” Kophim muttered back, extending a hand even as his eyes remained on the knights; Castis swatted his hand down.  
  
“Shut it,” Castis growled beneath his breath.  
  
All of the knights - save for one bearing a golden sash across their chest- proceeded to take up positions beside the ramp, drawing their swords and planting them tip-down on the hangar floor; the lone knight who was not standing at attention scanned the hangar, then walked towards the command area Saren and Castis were standing by at a relaxed pace. They arrived and knelt on one knee, their armour clanking as they shifted onto the ground.  
  
“Captain Castis Vakarian and Spectre Saren Arterius, I presume?” the human said in a deep, booming bass; they unsealed their helmet to reveal a tanned human male, black hair kept short, staring up at them with a grin on his face.  
  
“Uh, yes, that’s correct,” Castis replied stiffly. “There’s no need to kneel, sir.”  
  
“Nonsense! Merely a show of respect to a foreign counterpart,” the man replied cheerfully as he got to his feet. “Now - if I recall correctly - I clasp arms with you, yes?”  
  
“That’s right,” Castis replied, eying the man’s enormous armoured arm with only the barest hesitation; they clasped arms a moment later with enough force that Saren swore Castis flinched. “And you shake hands, correct?”  
  
“Correct, my good sir, yes! We most certainly do,” the man replied, rumbling with laughter as he gently shook Castis’ hand. “I’m aware my name might have been mentioned in the briefing materials you were given, but since this is our first true introduction, I feel I must stand on a little formality, if only for a moment.” The man took a step back, and punched his fists together in a ringing Exitium salute. “Lord Protector Alec Ryder, at your service.”  
  
“A pleasure to meet you,” Saren replied, clasping arms and shaking hands with Alec. “If you and your team are ready, all previously discussed security protocols are in place and our personnel are standing by.”  
  
“Very good, Spectre Arterius - I will fetch the ambassadors at once. If it pleases you, you can move up to the next position and await our arrival,” Alec said with a smile.  
  
“We’ll do that,” Saren replied, watching Alec walk back towards the ramp; with a nod to Castis, they turned and made their way out of the hangar and outside as the other security teams took up various positions in the hangar. The concourse outside was heavily fortified and barricaded; what was once an open area which connected several hangars had been reduced to a single walkway protected by several series of barricades each one manned by dozens of officers in full combat or riot gear. Far behind the C-Sec security teams, massive crowds of civilians looked on in anticipation, their murmurs a low roar which inspired both confidence and wariness in Saren.  
  
 _Lots of smiles. Lots of nervous looks._  
  
Saren, Castis and his subordinates took up positions at the far end of the walkway, where a convoy of armoured C-Sec transports and escort vehicles waited; they waited for a minute before their comms lits up with Alec’s voice.  
  
“Captain Vakarian, Spectre Arterius - the diplomats are with us. We will be out shortly - just a moment, if you please.”  
  
The hangar entrance opened once again, and the knights marched out onto the walkway to the sound of roaring cheers; as if on parade, they formed a line on each side of the walkway, twelve to a side, drew their swords and held them aloft to form a glittering archway of teeth and steel. Alec - identifiable by his gold sash, now that his visor was closed - stepped forward from the group, planted his blade into the ground and punched his breastplate so loudly that the entire crowd fell silent.  
  
“HONOUR GUARD,” Alec all but screamed, “THE FIRST PRAYER, BLESSED BE HIS NAME!”  
  
“YES, LORD PROTECTOR,” came the shouted cry. “WE HEAR AND OBEY! THE FIRST PRAYER, BLESSED BE HIS NAME!”  
  
At once, the knights chanted:  
  
  


_Yours is the name that guards us from sin.  
Yours is the blade that slays the demon.  
Yours is the salve which seals our wounds.  
Yours is the visage which grants us strength._

_You are the Hell-Walker,  
You are the First Sentinel,  
You are the Unchained Predator,  
You are the Doom Slayer._

_When faced with Hell, we beseech thee:  
Give us your rage so we may rip and tear,  
Give us your hate so we may do so until the end of days._

_So it is,  
So it shall be,  
Until it is done._

_Amen._   


  
  
Returning to the line of knights, Alec knelt and continued his shout: “PRESENTING! IN THE NAME OF THE DOOM SLAYER, BLESSED BE HIS NAME! HER EXALTED LADYSHIP, LADY AMBASSADOR ANITA GOYLE! HIS REDEEMED LORDSHIP, FAEMOCH EGI XAKHAL! HIS HIGH LORDSHIP, THE STROGG MAKRON OF TONGUES! HONOUR GUARD: KNEEL!"  
  
"WE HEAR AND OBEY! BLESSED IS THE DOOM SLAYER! AMEN!" the warriors shouted, kneeling as the hangar doors opened, their swords planted in the ground and their heads bowed.  
  
Three individuals emerged from the hangar to the sound of more cheering; first came a human woman, wearing a dark-blue outfit which reminded Saren of a Turian Navy dress uniform; her dark hair was styled into a bun, and two short swords (of the normal, non-toothed variety) hung from her belt. Next came something that vaguely resembled a human; its skin was a pale, sickly-looking grey, and Saren flinched as he realized that beneath its white robes and hood a cluster of wires and metal seemed crudely fused with its face. The last individual did not walk out, and Saren's jaw dropped slightly as an eyeless creature wearing robes of brilliant purple with golden trim hovered out onto the walkway, its metal-woven arms shining and sporting a golden semicircle crown which jutted out of the back of its head. Its lower legs and feet were of the same metal as its arms, and along its torso and waist ruby-red skin was visible beneath a silver carapace.  
  
The procession made their way down the walkway, spearheaded by Alec, who nodded at Castis and Saren. "We are ready to proceed, my good sirs. At your desires," he said, stepping to the side to allow the Strogg in white to approach. It - he, Saren reminded himself - offered his arm, and Saren clasped it, suppressing his discomfort at the feel of more metal and wiring beneath the Makron’s robes.  
  
“Captain Vakarian, Spectre Arterius,” the Makron said, his voice a wheezing mix of metal distortion and too-breathy flesh. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last.”  
  
“Likewise, your High Lordship,” Saren replied calmly - somehow - as the Makron clasped arms with Castis. “If you are ready, we’ll escort you to the Citadel Tower.”  
  
“Thank you,” Faenmoch - somehow - said without opening its mouth. “We shall proceed, then.”  
  
Castis, Kophim and Isena ushered the ambassadors and knights into various vehicles in the convoy; Castis took the lead vehicle with the ambassadors, while Saren sat with several C-Sec personnel and Alec in the car directly behind. The convoy took off, and Saren exhaled deeply. “All good so far,” Saren muttered, scanning the vehicle’s surroundings as they flew.  
  
“Ahh, there really is no need to worry, Spectre Arterius,” Alec replied happily as his faceplate lifted. “Actually - would it be alright if I called you Saren?”  
  
“Of course - that would be more than fine,” Saren replied with a small nod. “Should I refer to you as Alec, then?”  
  
“Oh - that would be wonderful, really,” Alec replied, sighing in something that might have been relief. “Formality is so...dull, sometimes. In any case, Saren, we need not worry about the safety of our charges. Through our ambassadors are protected by fine warriors, the magic which defends them is of an ever greater sort - and to be perfectly frank, any one of the ambassadors could handily defeat the entire honour guard without assistance.”  
  
“Hmm. Really? Is that an exaggeration?” Saren asked slowly, unsure if a joke was being told.  
  
“Not at all,” Alec explained with a shrug. “Lady Goyle spent twenty years in the Church of the Slayer - an Abbess in the Order of the Long Knife, in fact. The Makron of Tongues - well, he is a Strogg - all of whom are formidable warriors in their own right - and besides his martial skill he conceals no shortage of surprises beneath his order’s robes. As for Lord Faenmoch - well, I have not had the pleasure to see him perform in combat, but there are a great many rumours,” Alec said, eyes shining with excitement. “Thousands upon thousands of years of experience as a warrior serving Hell, all repurposed in the service of the Doom Slayer’s guiding light and hatred. His name be blessed,” Alec whispered, “they say his brutality is akin to the finest of art, Saren.”  
  
Saren attempted to say something intelligent, couldn’t, and nodded. “Huh.”  
  
“Even so - it is our duty to protect the ambassadors,” Alec said with a shrug. “So it is, so it shall be. A warrior’s fate is to do their duty, no matter the context or cost.”  
  
“Hmm. That, I can both agree and empathize with,” Saren replied with a smile he couldn’t help but make. “Duty - yes. That’s very true, Alec. There’s nothing nobler in the universe - at least, in my experience.”  
  
Alec regarded Saren with searching eyes for a moment before breaking out into a raucous fit of approving laughter. “Oh, this is a joyous day indeed. You know, Saren, I cannot help but think that today heralds the beginning of a great friendship between our peoples.”  
  
“I had hoped that’d be the case,” Saren said with a smirk. “Friends make for poor enemies.”  
  
“Yes! That’s the spirit! Oh, Saren, my good sir,” Alec replied as his eyes glazed over in imagination, “I look forward to the day when every race from all across the stars - every species that calls the Citadel home included - can stand side by side and slaughter the Servants of Doom to their heart’s content! Truly is His name a blessed one!”  
  
Saren coughed slightly. “Uh...yes. Of course.”  
  
Despite his rapidly-increasing discomfort and inability to converse meaningfully with Alec- who’d very quickly descended into a seemingly-endless speech on the wonders of “inflicting barbarous cruelty on Hell’s unworthy hordes” - the ride to the Citadel Tower passed without incident. Leaving the C-Sec officers behind, Saren personally led the ambassadors to the Council Hall and beyond into a small conference room; Herane Tevos, Fallox Sparatus and Saral Valern were waiting, and they proceeded to shake hands, clasp arms and take their seats as a single group - though, Saren noted, Faenmoch only appeared to be sitting, as he was actually floating very slightly above his seat.  
  
"Ambassadors of the Exalted Exitium, it is a pleasure to meet you in person," Herane Tevos said, smiling widely. "Herane Tevos, Councilor of the Asari Republics; these are Councilors Fallox Sparatus of the Turian Hierarchy, and Saral Valern of the Salarian Union."  
  
“Ah, yes - a formal greeting is indeed in order. Lord Ambassador Faenmoch egi Xakhal, at your service; these two are Lady Ambassador Anita Goyle, and the Makron of Tounges. And please, it is our pleasure,” Faenmoch replied, his split-jaw opening into something akin to a smile for a brief moment before closing - and continuing to speak in a supernaturally smooth voice. “Ah - before we continue, a rather unsavoury matter must be resolved. The turian marine who was to be executed - Slayer bless his soul - Spear Corporal Aetna Druso? Was he executed in the manner we instructed?”  
  
Councilor Sparatus nodded at Saren, and so he answered. “He was,” Saren said flatly. “Knocked out by sleeping gas, shot in the head - several times - then incinerated, along with his runic drawings. The entire cell which contained him was then disposed of in the nearest sun.”  
  
“Slayer’s blessings upon us,” the Makron of Tongues said sadly as all three of the ambassadors signed a symbol over their chests. “I understand - distasteful indeed, to be starting with such ugly business, and yet we must. Demonic corruptions, especially on a place so populated as the Citadel - it would have been a disaster of apocalyptic proportions,” he said, trailing off. “Please, Councilors - Councilor Sparatus, especially - you have my sincerest apologies and I assure you that we shall do our very best to atone for this most grave of errors.”  
  
"That's alright," Sparatus said, nodding slowly. "In any case, with that settled - shall we begin in earnest? Before we discuss matters like borders or trade, I believe Councilors Tevos and Valern would agree that we’d like to clarify the matter of the ‘War on Hell.’”  
  
“That is agreeable,” the Makron of Tongues replied with a nod. “I am aware that the Volumes of Unity speak of the matter, but - ah - you must understand that they were written with a rather different audience than you in mind. The last species the Exalted Exitium came into contact with which had no experience with Hellish matters was my own, and that was roughly forty-six thousand years ago, Councilor Sparatus. Please try to understand - for you, the reality we face must seem like fiction, or madness - but it is very, very real.”  
  
“In fact,” Anita Goyle continued, “there has even been an ongoing debate in the upper echelons of the Exalted Exitium’s governing bodies, Councilors. Our opening ties with the Citadel and the space it governs means that we risk spreading the War on Hell to your peoples as well. There is a group - a rather sizable minority - which believes that the best course of action that we could take is to leave information on how to defend yourselves against Hell as well as a means for you to contact us, and return home. Re-lock the relay. Pretend none of this ever happened. It would be,” Anita continued with a scowl, “the same way we would treat an incapable or non-powerful society.”  
  
“I think, especially given the situation with the late Spear Corporal, that it is rather late for that,” Valern noted coolly.  
  
“We are in agreement,” Faenmoch replied with a click of his jaws that might have been frustration. “It is a stupid idea - an incredibly stupid one, borne of the worry that your people are not strong enough, not ready to face the servants of Hell in open combat. Now - I have no doubt that in time, if - when - Hell comes to visit its ruin upon your people, your warriors will stand ready. Until then, though, by mere virtue of your interactions with the Exalted Exitium, you do risk demonic incursions within Citadel territory, councilors. Now that we are here - we can share knowledge and best practices on how to repulse, purge and cleanse any demonic invaders or influence.”  
  
There was a short pause as the Councilors glanced at one another, and it was Councilor Tevos who managed a response.  
  
“I, ah, understand and accept that you have been facing an enemy of incredible threat and danger, honoured ambassadors - and I accept that you have been fighting this foe for fifty-thousand years,” Herane said cautiously. “But I must also inform you that, from our point of view - and I mean absolutely no offense - that without a frame of reference akin to yours, it is difficult to accept outright that you and your peoples wield holy magic to, ah, cleanse the literal demons of the fiery underworlds.”  
  
The three ambassadors looked at one another and nodded sadly; it was the Makron who replied.  
  
“Rest assured, Councilor Tevos, we do not take offense at your words. It is merely...difficult for us to put ourselves in your position, to see things as you do. I - we - do our best to try, however, and I think that were I in your seat, untouched by magic and without the changes wrought by so many ages at war, I might think myself entirely mad. The histories of my people - the Strogg - say as much.” The Makron lowered his hood, clearly revealing his head for the first time, and not even his iron will could stop Saren - let alone the Councilors - from gasping in shock.  
  
The Volumes of Unity had shown images of the Strogg - twisted creations of flesh and machine - but the real thing, up-close, was another thing entirely. Saren had found the cybernetically-enhanced warriors shown in the Volumes to be bearable, if rather distasteful; the Makron of Tongues was far more and far worse. The metal plates and layers on the right side of his face looked to be bolted into his skin, thick bundles of wiring and cables snaked out of his head and down into his robes, and perhaps worst of all was the Makron’s right eye. Without pomp or ceremony, he simply reached up with a hand and plucked it out of its socket - revealing a spherical eye attached to a long, sharpened cone - with a mechanical whir and an uncomfortably loud squelching noise. With the slightly moist eyestalk in hand, then, and only then, did he seem to realize the discomfort he was causing.  
  
“Ah - my apologies, esteemed Councilors,” the Makron said sheepishly. “This will only take a moment, I promise.” He tossed the eye towards the centre of the table, and Saren flinched as it hovered above the table’s surface, glowing as it projected a holographic feed around itself: a grainy, flickering projection of a conference room appeared, showing several figures wearing armour not unlike the kind Saren had seen worn by the Lord Admiral Jon Grissom and his crew; on the other side of the table, two Strogg stood with clearly violent intent, yelling incoherently at the Exitium representatives.  
  
“The Makron at the time of our contact with the Exitium, and his assistant,” the Makron of Tongues explained. “When the Exitium came to us - and quite easily swatted down our attempt to destroy what we saw as a rival force - the Strogg refused to listen. Of course they did - what sane, reasonable creature, born from an empire of steel and industry, would accept the word of a zealous crusader? By then, of course, it was already too late.” The image shifted, showing hundreds of soldiers of the Strogg and Exitium alike standing atop a wall or barricade, firing down at an endless stream of demons; despite their best efforts the horde quickly overwhelmed the line, and Saren watched with a cold feeling as the foul creatures swept over the city behind the wall.  
  
“And thus did the planet - and city - of Stroggos fall,” Faenmoch sighed. “It was recaptured, of course, but only centuries later.”  
  
“In a single day,” the Makron of Tongues said sadly, “the Strogg went from hating our conquerors to begging them for salvation. Had we faced a foe that was merely martially superior - we would have worshipped them as the new Makrons - the new leaders of the Strogg. But Hell, Councilors - Hell is different. Hell does not tolerate mere servants from its defeated foes - it makes slaves of them.”  
  
The projection changed; now, the image showed a view from further inside the city. Fallen Strogg, rent and torn apart by claw, tooth and blade, rose to their feet with crazed expressions and unnatural, disgusting auras, charging straight into the gunfire of their own allies; Saren thought of the _Silverthread_ , and felt his hand twitch almost imperceptibly towards his sidearm.  
  
“All because one Strogg soldier - just one - built a gore nest,” the Makron hissed. “One! One pile of corpses, hidden somewhere in the great city of Stroggos. One gore nest became ten possessed and a hundred demons. That became ten gore nests. Then a hundred. Then - well, then we lost the planet. It took a a day, maybe two or three, if you believe the old records to exaggerate.” He shrugged, raising a hand and beckoning at the eye; the projection stopped, the eyestalk angled and shot back into his head with a soft plopping sound. “I do not think it matters whether you believe that our foe is demonic - truly demonic,” the Makron continued, raising his hood. “Nor does it matter if you believe that the Hell we face is the true underworld, home of the foulest, most unholy abominations. What does matter is that you prepare to fight what comes - and that you know that in the deepest pits of Hell, ruinous minds will exploit any and all weakness you show them in the name of Doom itself. To think otherwise is not mere folly - it would be the end of your civilization! If you would deny my claims, think my recordings fabricated, then look to experiences of your own warrior elite - Spectre Arterius," the Makron all but pleaded, "imagine the horror from the _Silverthread_ spreading throughout all of Citadel Space. Madness, corruption - mere heralds of things to come - on every corner of every street of every planet."  
  
Saren stared into the cold, synthetic eyes of the Makron and saw nothing but genuine terror.  
  
“The Makron of Tongues speaks only truth,” Faenmoch added with a vigorous nod, “and if you will permit me the boast, I think I am excellently placed to speak authoritatively on the matter.”  
  
“You’re a Redeemed demon, yes?” Councilor Valern noted. “You betrayed your masters to serve the Exitium - is that correct?”  
  
“Just so,” Faenmoch answered. “Correct, Councilor. I am a summoner of Hell, and before then I was a lowly imp - naught but a common foot soldier of Hell's hosts," Faenmoch said, voice distant. "That was a long time ago - my ascension from imp to summoner took place six thousand years ago, my defection to the Exitium four thousand years ago. I have seen things, Councilors. I have done things you cannot imagine. I have watched the dead resurrected as Hell's mindless thralls more times than I can count. I have opened portals to Hell with the blood sacrifice of thousands of humans. I have used ruinous, terrible sorceries to call forth unholy creatures whose very existence warps space into an unholy abomination, Councilors. And when I say that magic and sorcery and demons are real, Councilors, know that from the bottom of my heart I speak the truth. As the Makron says - whether you accept magic and demons as real is of no consequence, so long as you take the steps to defend yourselves," Faenmoch continued, shaking his head. "The Exitium has profited - nay, survived - thanks to its wholehearted acceptance of sorcery and a life dedicated to the War Eternal - and if you will not accept that magic is real, or that Hell is the place where slain souls go to be damned, so be it. But do not bury your heads in the sand! You must face this. You must. Your lives, and the lives of everyone you swear to protect depend on it.”  
  
“I must add my assent,” Anita added with a vigorous nod. “If you will explain Faenmoch’s life and deeds as possible because his species has unique phsyiology - so be it. If magic is merely some sort of new science which follows rules you have yet to discover - so be it. If Hell is simply some other dimension to you, its denizens the brainwashed soldiers of a conquering army - so be it. Look to the Doom Slayer Himself for inspiration - He does not care how the demon is slain, only that it is done. But, as Faenmoch and the Makron have noted - if we maintain cordial relations, then it is only a matter of time before Hell hunts the people of the Citadel. You must be ready - if not to fight back, then to survive.”  
  
"I...we understand," Sparatus replied after a moment. "Rest assured, we're not here to pretend that your foe does not exist, not are we going to act as though matters of security are of no importance. It is difficult, however, to research magic when at least from our point of view magic doesn't exist. You say that we might explain it as some sort of new science, Lady Goyle? I would accept that - had I any proof whatsoever that your sorcery even exists, beyond what you tell me. Not that I think you, or any of your people are liars - but surely you see my point?”  
  
"I do, Councilor Sparatus. That is why we are here," Anita said with a smile. "To help you understand. To help you broaden your horizons.”  
  
"Mmm. I believe that," Valern replied, "but do you suggest that you will offer your help without asking for anything in return? Forgive me for descending into a bout of pragmatism, but I find it difficult to imagine you’d offer all this knowledge and information without expecting at least something in return.”  
  
The ambassadors looked at one another with confused expressions; it was Faenmoch who answered a moment later.  
  
“If the idea that the Exalted Exitium would grant you knowledge without cost sits poorly with you,” Faenmoch said slowly, “then, ah, you could perhaps imagine that...we simply need more bodies for the War Eternal.” He paused, snorting. “In fact, it is true. A hand which tears demons is a hand the Exitium calls a friend. But if you insist on looking at things cynically, then you could say we want you as a shield, or the like. I will say, however, that if fifty thousand years of war has taught the Exitium anything it is that cynicism only gets in the way of efficiency."  
  
"Hope is our greatest weapon," the Makron continued, nodding in agreement. "And hope - compassion - dictates that we must give everything we can to the Citadel and its peoples. If you would offer gifts in return, then we would take them without issue. If not - neither would we complain.”  
  
The Councilors - and Saren - stared at one another with ill-concealed shock, and Saren had to work to keep a look of suspicion from making its way into view.  
  
 _That's insane,_ Saren mused as the silence dragged on, _but then again, everything about the Exitium is insane._  
  
"That's a noble sentiment," Sparatus managed to say after a moment. "And while we appreciate it, it gets us no closer to understanding what, if anything, we can offer you. Technology? Space? Raw materials?”  
  
"We do not want for space," Anita noted, "so you have nothing to fear in terms of the Exitium encroaching upon the Citadel's sovereign territory. It is the cruelest of ironies that the demons of Hell follow us primarily by the scent of the power we use to fuel our civilization - and so it is that any expansion on our part comes at the cost of dealing with the risk of demonic incursion. The Exitium has plenty of space to expand into when the time comes - Slayer's blessings, if your peoples wish for space to expand into and do not mind the demonic threat, there is plenty of room we do not have need of."  
  
"That is reassuring," Tevos replied. "Imagining, for a moment, that the Exitium wanted things in return for its knowledge, though, what would you wish for?"  
  
"Your technology is of great interest to us," Faenmoch noted. "We have only recently discovered the, ah, mass relays, and our ability to manipulate what you call 'element zero' is very limited by your standards. An exchange of knowledge would be greatly appreciated."  
  
"That can easily be arranged," Valern replied, "though it will take time. First Contact, by our historical records, tends to be a drawn-out affair. We'll have to make arrangements."  
  
"Of course," Faenmoch replied. "We, too, would have preferred a longer time for our peoples to learn to get to know one another, but the matter of Spear Corporal Druso forced our hand. We apologize for the inconvenience."  
  
“It’s quite alright,” Councilor Tevos replied with a wave of her hand. “But the speed of this First Contact scenario has also placed us in a bit of a predicament - without the time to properly learn about your peoples, and inform our own citizens, we’ve had to withhold information from the public for fear of...instability, or, at the very least, a poor reception to your continued residence in Citadel space.”  
  
“Ah. I was fearing this might be the case,” the Makron noted with a sigh. “I, ah, did notice your discomfort at my visage. So, too, did I leave my AI modules behind aboard our ship - and while some at home were unsure, the decision was made to ensure no artificially-intelligent personnel were on our diplomatic mission.”  
  
 _Didn't stop you from tearing your damn eye out,_ Saren thought with a suppressed snort.  
  
“We appreciate your sensitivity to the matter,” Councilor Valern said with a smile. “But if you are aware of how things stand - then you must understand how the public will react. The fusion of machine and flesh; the marriage of artificial and natural intelligences - these are not things the people of the Citadel will take kindly to.”  
  
“I have no concept of how your people will react, in all honesty, and I will not pretend that I understand much of your society or its history,” the Makron admitted with a shrug. “I will simply say that the truth of my people - of myself - will be impossible to keep hidden if we are to maintain a friendly and open relationship. Nor will I look kindly upon the hiding of my culture.”  
  
“Perhaps it would be best,” Councilor Tevos interjected, “if we took some time during these initial negotiations to draft a public release. Our history is not your history - obviously - and I think it will be crucial for the public to see and speak with people from the Exitium in a public, ‘real’ setting. The public must know that, for example, your body and mind are of...ah, a peaceful nature, Makron of Tongues; they must see proof from tests that you are indeed an old, wise being, Ambassador egi Xakhal.”  
  
“Old - I am not that old,” Faenmoch muttered sourly. “You might think it so, but really - older minds persist both within and without Hell itself.”  
  
“You claim as much,” Fallox countered, “and yet without proof the public will think you a liar. Even the asari - whose ages can surpass a thousand - often face unfair scrutiny or accusations from those who do not share their lifespans. How do you think such people might react when a being such as yourself claims to be well over four or five thousand years old?”  
  
"That is a fair point - and one which we had not even bothered to consider," Faenmoch admitted with a click of his jaw. "Alas, our lack of foresight on matters external blindside us once again."  
  
“In a similar vein, I have to express concern regarding your religion,” Fallox continued. “Many members or our respective governments have expressed worry about the vigour with which your people pursue their worship. Now - I have no issue with your conviction and faith myself, but from an outside point of view I hope you can see why some would be worried. Your religion - correct me if I am wrong - is built upon the worship of a singular war-god whose every word and command exhorts you to, ah, ‘rip and tear’ your demonic foes with as much cruelty and anger as you can muster. For the Citadel, whose religions trend towards the, ahem, more introspective, such language inspires, at best, fear.”  
  
“I...suppose,” the Makron said slowly, scratching beneath his hood with a metal finger. “Yes, I think I understand. But - perhaps it is simply my inability to put myself in their position - I, and my colleagues, worship the Doom Slayer and focus our eternal, unending hate upon Hell and its servants, nothing else. It is as He said: ‘Slay the Heretic and the Demon alone.’ Blessed be His name, the Doom Slayer Himself spoke clearly that we need not worship Him, and that all beneath His fist most holy can do as they like in matters of faith, so long as we continue the War Eternal.”  
  
Another pause; once again, the Councilors regarded each other with a mix of relief and alarm.  
  
“See - you can insist, for example, that you will not commit violence, or even inconvenience, upon the people of the Citadel by means of your own scripture,” Saral Valern replied, “but your words and your actions are two different things. Moving forward, I would ask that you publicly comply with, and state your compliance to, the strict regulations on the methods by which proselytizing is allowed in Citadel space. Doing so would reassure us, the Lower Council and the public at large.”  
  
“That is no problem," Anita said, nodding. “I can, off the top of my head, recall no less than two dozen scriptures in which the Doom Slayer Himself, blessed is His name, demands that those who do not worship him be treated with respect, patience and freedom. You have my word as a representative of the Church of the Slayer that any chaplains sent forth from the Exalted Exitium shall follow all laws applying to them to their fullest extent, in both intent and application.”  
  
“I will swear the same oath, on behalf of the Church of the Lector,” the Makron of Tongues added. “Any and all priests that set foot on Citadel territory will be sworn to do their duties within the boundaries you set for them, Councilors.”  
  
Saren considered the words of the Makron. _Just like that. No hesitation, no talk of division or disobeying of orders. Interesting._  
  
“That puts one of my concerns at ease,” Saral said with a curt nod. “Thank you.”  
  
“Of course, that only raises the issue of tourism,” Anita added with a sigh. “The Citadel is a place not touched by the War Eternal; you must understand, to many of our people the Citadel and the planets which comprise its member governments, they will seem like paradise made manifest. I'm sure the idea of tourists visiting in droves is an exciting prospect, but perhaps not in the numbers we can bring, and especially tourists for whom Citadel space will not just be a place to visit, but a sacred place fit for a holy pilgrimage. If several dozen of our persons is enough to inspire as much...interest as it has, I can imagine that several hundred thousand - several hundred million - people coming each day to Citadel space may, ah, not be conducive to cordial relations.”  
  
“Then we would request a freeze on free travel and immigration between the Exitium and the boundaries of Citadel space,” Fallox noted matter-of-factly. “Cordial or not, friendly or hostile - the Citadel and its members are not equipped to handle an influx on that scale. It would, of course, be a temporary measure, instated while we further hash out the details of a proper intake procedure and any limitations requested by our member governments."  
  
"We are more than happy to accept such an order," Faenmoch replied. "Though, to be honest, I do not think any of your peoples will be quite ready for the, ah, rapture some of our citizens will experience, no matter how long it is until they arrive here.”  
  
"It'll be a learning experience," Tevos said, smiling. "Speaking of - allow me to return to the matters of Hell for a moment. You have mentioned and we are aware," she continued, smile fading into a steely expression, "that the construction of these, ah, gore nests, is well within the reach of any determined individual. If we are to have time to prepare to face the dangers of Hell, then this knowledge - and knowledge of similar threats - must be suppressed."  
  
"Mmm. That is a good point," Faenmoch noted, split-jaw opening and closing in thought. "We had planned on linking our galnet to your extranet, but that might have to be postponed for the foreseeable future. If the Exalted Exitium demands that any visitors to the Citadel and beyond do not share such knowledge, I can say that ninety-nine percent of our peoples will follow that order even if tortured or otherwise pressed - but there is going to be a non-zero risk of information leakage," he conceded.  
  
"Perhaps, then, we can adjust the timetable for travel restrictions based on methods of dealing with said nests?" Councilor Sparatus offered.  
  
"Ahh, but to spot a gore nest and to know how to destroy one safely, one must know how it looks at the very least," Anita said, frowning. "True, simply procuring some corpses and throwing it into a pile usually does not result in a gore nest without the proper demonic invocations...but usually does not mean always."  
  
"A conundrum," the Makron said, tapping the table in thought. "To be fair, anyone with a rune-knife can dispel the magics of a gore nest - and given the exceedingly potent fabrication abilities of your omni-tools I believe it would be possible for basically every citizen to have a rune-blade on hand - but that still fails eliminate the real threat behind the nests."  
  
"Demonic incursion," Valern replied. "I see the issue - we shall have to return to it once matters of knowledge-sharing are solidified. We omitted any information on gore nests and portals from the contact package we uploaded to the public to be safe - so unless one of the isolated marines breaks confinement there's no chance of information leakage at this time. Perhaps disseminating fabrication plans of these, ah, rune-knives, can be done now, and information on their...holy properties can be released later?"  
  
"A stopgap measure, but sufficient for the time being," the Makron said, shrugging. "In any case, as previously agreed, we intend to interview the afflicted marines to see if they possess sign of demonic corruption - and I am sure that, dutiful as they are, they will not spread knowledge of the nests if they are free of taint."  
  
"Very well," Tevos said. "Before we move on to the concrete details of how we will facilitate information-sharing, I would, ah, like to address one more thing - economic matters.”  
  
“Ah. Yes. Numbers,” Faenmoch sighed. “All of my joking aside - you have us at a disadvantage, Councilors. Ours is a - how do you say - what is the word?"  
  
"War economy?" Saren offered.  
  
“I believe that would be the term,” Anita said with a nod. "Yes - every fibre of our being, our society, our culture - it is designed for war."  
  
“The Exitium has not known anything besides such for fifty-thousand years, Councilors,” the Makron continued. “Oh, we possess luxury goods and the like - but, ultimately, the vast majority of, well, everything in the Exalted Exitium, from the lowest municipal bureaucrat’s paperwork to the largest planetary factories all work to fuel the endless, ravenous needs of our War Eternal. We have no experience or understanding of anything else.”  
  
“What the Makron of Tongues means to say, Councilors,” Faenmoch said with a split-smile, “is that if you would place demands or restrictions upon us, we will do our best to abide by them simply because, in this field, your experience trumps ours.”  
  
“That - your, ahem, candor is appreciated, Ambassador,” Herane replied in stark astonishment. “I’ll return the honesty - your previous census listed the Exitium’s three Core Sectors as having a population of just under a quadrillion individuals - and even that is a conservative estimate. I won’t lie: the Exalted Exitium’s industrial capabilities - as they should be, given your, ah, unique circumstances - vastly outpaces our own. That, in and of itself, is no problem - but if there would be irreparable damages to the Citadel’s ability to function economically unless incredibly strict rules are put in place to regulate even the smallest amounts of trade.”  
  
“Well, without access to my AI modules or an external processing booster - or some proper arithmancers, more likely - I cannot say that I have any proposals on how to deal with the situation,” the Makron replied, “save for offering a freeze similar to the one on travel and immigration, at least until some sort of proper trade negotiation can be had between your relevant authorities and representatives from the Exitium more properly-equipped to handle such matters.”  
  
“Yes - that will simply have to do until further negotiations can be had,” Lady Goyle added with a shrug. “Now - you mentioned the information-sharing programs…”


	6. TERROR (II)

Several hours later, the conference table’s holoprojector displayed a thirty-six page document which outlined dozens of topics which the Exitium’s ambassadors and the Council would continue to discuss over the coming days, and Saren suppressed a look of relief at the chance to stop standing at attention in near-silence.  
  
“Well,” Councilor Tevos said as she leaned forward and smiled, “I believe that concludes the drafting of our contact objective list. Unless we’ve missed something crucial - and I don’t think we have - negotiations moving forward should proceed smoothly.”  
  
“Hah! An optimist. A politician’s work is never done, Councilor,” Faenmoch said with a chortle, “but I must admit I am more than happy with what we have accomplished here today.”  
  
“As am I. We’ll reconvene tomorrow, then, and begin with the concrete drafting of the knowledge-sharing program at nine sharp? Is that acceptable?" Councilor Sparatus offered.  
  
“Yes, yes, that suits us well,” the Makron of Tongues replied. “That leaves us a great deal of time for our work tonight; after giving the isolated marines a clean bill of spiritual health, I believe we would like to tour the Citadel for a while, and perhaps demonstrate some practical sorcery in a safe and controlled manner.”  
  
“Will you be heading straight to the hospital in question, then?” Councilor Valern asked. “If so, Captain Vakarian’s security teams await you outside the Council Hall; Spectre Arterius is also at your service for the time being.”  
  
“Thank you, and yes, I believe we shall,” Anita replied. “If the soldiers in question bear the mark of Hell’s corruption, then the rites of cleansing must be carried out at once. If not - well, I would not wish them to be confined without a reason, and so their freedom must be secured with haste. Ah - speaking of which - if it would not be too much of an inconvenience, I would ask, Councilors, that a channel be established by which the Exitium can begin its atonement regarding the most unfortunate sin wrought upon the Silverthread’s crew and Spear Corporal Druso.”  
  
“Indeed,” the Makron continued, “while I understand our currencies of cart and belt are not equalized with the Citadel Credit, it is my - our - desire that gifts of runes, physical goods and sizeable amounts of Exitium currency be sent as soon as is possible to the families of the slain.”  
  
“You don’t need to worry - we will be sure to make the proper arrangements,” Councilor Tevos replied with a nod. “Even if an in-person meeting cannot be arranged before your departure, we can certainly carry out the delivery of some gifts and set up a line of communication between yourselves and the families of the affected.”  
  
“Blessed is His name,” the Makron sighed, signing a symbol over his chest as the other ambassadors followed suit. “I know it is little comfort for those who have lost a loved one, but upon His name I swear that the Exalted Exitium will ensure these families will never want for anything material - and if they would seek spiritual comfort, please let them know that they may have their pick of the Church of the Lector’s priests. This peaceful meeting of ours has been built upon the needless deaths of so many; I fear there is nothing I can do to atone for it.”  
  
Councilor Sparatus glanced back at Saren, and the two shared a knowing look of disbelief.  
  
 _Spirits take me, he’s laying it on thick,_ Saren thought with a rumble of amusement. _Can’t tell if this is the best or worst acting I’ve seen in my life._  
  
“I’m sure your gestures will be appreciated deeply,” Sparatus managed after a moment. “Yes, these deaths were unfortunate - very unfortunate - but now that all of us are communicating clearly and working together, I’m sure something like this won’t happen again.”  
  
“I - we appreciate your reassurance,” Anita replied softly. “This meeting has been quite an eye-opening experience; our days of ill caution with matters external must end, and it is only with your help, Councilors, that we may move forward in a proper and safe manner. Much as magics and demons are beyond your understanding for now, so too does the Exitium not know how to react or handle a society not burdened with the War Eternal.”  
  
"Well, we all stand to profit from this partnership," Valern noted. "And if our nations become friends in the process, well, that doesn't sound all that bad to me."  
  
“Aha! A jester in our midst,” Faenmoch said, split-jaw yawning open in a toothy grin. “Very well, Councilors; I believe we shall take our leave for the evening, and take Spectre Arterius with us, unless you wish to join us?”  
  
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, at least tonight,” Councilor Tevos replied with a sad smile. “Even with all the work we accomplished tonight, there’s no shortage of papers to file and reports to deliver to our respective governments and liaisons. I trust, of course, that Spectre Arterius will be able to represent and report to us in an adequate fashion.”  
  
The Makron shifted slightly. “Of course, of course! Whatever your protocols are, we defer to them, Councilor.”  
  
“I’d like to hold on to Spectre Arterius for just a moment, though,” Sparatus interjected. “There’s nothing wrong or all that serious - we’ll be debriefing and ensuring our affairs are in order before dispersing to take care of our individual duties, and I’d like to have Spectre Arterius’ input on a few matters.”  
  
“Of course. We shall await you outside, then, Spectre,” Faenmoch said. “By your leave, Councillors.”  
  
The ambassadors all stood up, bowed, and left the room; once the doors closed behind them a long silence settled in the room for nearly a minute.  
  
“Spirits,” Fallox muttered at last, rubbing at his fringe. “I’ve, ah, seen a lot of weird stuff in my life and nothing’s ever come close to being as bizarre as...whatever that was. I have no idea how I’m going to even start my report to the Hierarchy.”  
  
“I think I’m going to have to agree,” Herane replied, sighing. “I’m almost six hundred years old, and for the first time in my life I have absolutely no idea what I should write in my next report. Where do we even start?”  
  
“Age, perhaps?” Saral mused. “Faenmoch claims to be over six thousand years old. That, more than anything, raises my suspicion - and my curiosity. I find myself doubting him, despite his rather blasé manner of speech. I wonder if he’d submit to a full battery of, say, dating procedures…” The salarian councilor trailed off before turning his eyes on Saren. “Perhaps you could float the idea, Spectre?”  
  
“Yes, Councilor. I’ll be sure to do so,” Saren replied flatly.  
  
“Thank you.” The absent look in Saral’s eyes vanished, and his expression returned to its usual, calculating look. “Impressions? I’m still not convinced about their magic - and don’t get me started on their religion - but Ambassador Xakhal is right, I think. It doesn’t matter what threatens the Citadel - if something poses a danger, we need to be ready to face it. Now, I’m not saying we all start worshipping their Doom Slayer and carrying chainsaws instead of guns, but - I think I’m being fairly clear.”  
  
“Yes, you are,” Sparatus replied, shaking his head. “As absurd as all of this is, Saral’s right - a threat is a threat, no matter its origin. And no matter how much I think their overtures are suspect, I’m not going to outright turn down their generosity out of some misplaced sense of superiority.”  
  
“I think that’s what struck me the most,” Herane replied with a concerned frown. “How honestly generous they seemed. Lady Goyle, Lord Faenmoch and the Makron were all described to us in the Exitium’s initial briefings as diplomats - and yes they certainly all are diplomats - but none of them seemed particularly adept at politics. I wasn’t expecting them to obstruct and debate us at every step, but to just roll over and let us do what we want?”  
  
Saren raised a hand, and cleared his throat as all three Councilors nodded. “I’m no diplomat, not by any stretch of the imagination, so take my words with reservations - but all of that does make sense if you take their claims at face value, no? Think about it from that perspective - they’ve been at war with a singular foe for fifty thousand years, maybe more. They don’t practice diplomacy, not as we understand it; they don’t need space, or argue about the economy, or worry about resource allocation. All they care about is the war - how to provide more soldiers, how to feed their troops, how to arm them, and so on. Their big diplomatic problems are probably like...dealing with arguments on how best to purge the demons, or something along those lines.” He shrugged thoughtfully. “I don’t even think they understand us - Citadel space, that is. From what little time I’ve spent with them, my impression is that our society not at all-encompassing war, not being engineered to maximize combat efficiency - all of that is entirely nonsensical to them.”  
  
“Just as nonsensical as they seem to us? Is that your implication?” Councilor Sparatus asked.  
  
“It is, “ Saren answered. “Now - keeping in mind I’m assuming they’re not acting or lying through their teeth - all of a sudden after fifty thousand years spent fighting by themselves, they stumble upon us. Peaceful and naive and magic...less? Mundane? They probably don’t care whether or not we believe their stories and whatnot - all they see is a chance to get us tooled up to join the fight, willingly or otherwise. For them? Ten, twenty years of the Citadel species getting their own way in terms of trade or immigration or whatever else you can negotiate for? That’s nothing, Councilors - chump change. What’s another ten or ten thousand years for the ancient Exitium?”  
  
“Mmm. Yes, I do see your point, and I’m inclined to agree,” Herane replied with a slow nod. “Of course, we’ll be asking the other Spectres and many more analysts in the days to come, but what’s your gut reaction in terms of a fight between the Exitium and the Citadel?”  
  
“Hard to say,” Saren replied with a frown. “Their stories of war-magic and whatnot make it hard to tell what’s true, what’s an embellishment and what’s an outright lie; of course, I intend to verify these claims myself in a few minutes. But...gut check. Hmm. I don’t think they’d be able to just steamroll over the combined resistance of all Citadel space,” Saren said sourly, “but I’m all but certain that if they wanted a war with us they’d win. Even assuming that their technological claims are exaggerated and their magic is nonexistent - and they have to have some sort of advanced technology, since they’re speaking to us in our own languages, I might add - I think they’d win out of sheer attrition. Their core dozen worlds or so have a population of over a quadrillion at a conservative estimate? Populated entirely by zealots, or brainwashed individuals? That’s a nightmare waiting to happen if a fight breaks out.”  
  
Another long silence.  
  
“Thank you for offering your thoughts on these matters,” Councilor Sparatus said uncomfortably. “We’ll keep your words in mind while we continue our work; please message us via the Spectre Office once you’ve finished your tour with the Exitium’s ambassadors, and do try to record whatever you can. We’ll eagerly await your return. Dismissed.”  
  
Saren nodded and left the conference room, joining the ambassadors outside; he lead them to Captain Vakarian’s waiting convoy in the upper garages of the Council Hall.  
  
“Ah, ambassadors, welcome back,” Castis said as he waved the group over to the waiting line of vehicles. “We’re ready to escort you to your next destination; will you still be travelling to Chalua Hospital?”  
  
“That is correct, though if possible we would ask that either you or Spectre Arterius return to the _Blessings of the Lector Four-Four-Six-Twenty-two_ to fetch our finest healer,” Faenmoch replied with a split-jaw smile.  
  
“I can do that,” Castis replied. “I’ll head there with a security detail and meet you at the hospital when you’re ready? Is that acceptable?”  
  
The ambassadors looked to Saren, who - after a moment of bewildered silence - nodded in turn. “That’s fine, Captain. I’ll send an all-clear signal when we’re ready to receive the healer.” He watched Castis, a dozen C-Sec personnel and half of the Exitium’s Honour Guard depart the garage in short order; once they were gone, he turned back to the remaining officers. “Same procedure, same formations. Let’s move, people,” he ordered. Less than two minutes later, Saren and the ambassadors were sitting - or floating, in Faenmoch’s case - in an aircar as their convoy drove towards Chalua Hospital at a steady, measured pace.  
  
“Well, I believe that went quite well,” Faenmoch said with a sigh as he regarded the Presidium passing beneath the car’s windows. “You know, Spectre Arterius, I cannot help but wish that we had an entire age to spend here. It seems so...different, here.”  
  
“Different?” Anita snorted. “Yes, it’s different, you buffoon - what, did you expect that the Citadel would be but a mirror of Gaia?”  
  
“There is no need to be rude, milady,” Faenmoch replied theatrically with a click of his jaws. “We are in the company of others at the moment, and I see no reason that your esteemed personhood should stoop to defaming my good name and visage.”  
  
“My apologies, Spectre,” the Makron said with a shake of his hooded head. “The two of them are insufferable at times.”  
  
“It’s alright,” Saren replied with a small smile. “I find formal settings to be...stifling, at times - I’d prefer to see all of you as you are now, rather than as diplomats at the bargaining table.”  
  
The Makron twitched, his robes rustling as something moved beneath them. “Ah, yes - bargaining. I suspected before our arrival that your politics - Citadel politics - and our own would be quite different. Am I correct in assuming that unity is not the, ah, default mode of discussion here?”  
  
“Not to the same degree that your peoples would think normal, no,” Saren replied carefully. “The Citadel’s socio political relations are complex at the best of times. The Council - both the one you spoke to today, and the Lower Council beneath them - juggles several mandates and interests, many of which can contradict one another in some way or form.”  
  
“That sounds terrible,” Faenmoch said, tapping a finger absently on the window. “Our War Eternal is a curse, to be sure, but sometimes I think that its horrors have, in some way, been a gift. We - the Exalted Exitium - are unified in worship and zeal and desire. We were given a purpose, a goal, a duty: to rip and tear until the end of days come - and from that purpose we have built and learned so much. From each other, and from the Doom Slayer, blessed are His words and His fists.”  
  
“I cannot help but agree,” Anita added eagerly. “Why, without the Doom Slayer, blessed is His name, and his cleansing rage, you would not be speaking to Faenmoch today!”  
  
“Ah - speaking of which,” Saren noted, “I did have questions about that, Ambassador egi Xakhal.”  
  
“Oh? By all means, Spectre Arterius, ask away,” Faenmoch answered. “Do not hesitate - you will struggle to find a question I might deem offensive or embarrassing, I think.”  
  
“You’re a Redeemed demon,” Saren stated matter-of-factly. “Two thousand years as a summoner, countless years before that as an imp fighting on the frontlines of the War Eternal against the Exitium. From one soldier to another - what made you leave? Was there something that drew you to turn traitor? To betray your masters, to worship the Doom Slayer? Was it one moment of recognition, one hundred tiny thoughts, or perhaps somewhere in between? Forgive me for prying, but it’s not often I get to speak with a warrior with as, ah, varied and long a life as yours.”  
  
“No, no, it is no problem - I will be happy to answer. Perfectly reasonable questions, even more so considering your status as one of the Citadel’s elite warriors,” Faenmoch answered, the right half of his jaw easing open in what might have been a smirk or a lopsided smile. “Once, long ago - mere centuries after my ascension to summoner from imp - I was but one of thousands of Hell’s countless frontline commanders. Some human settlement was to be my next target, and during the assault I faced a human boy - not old enough to be in the Church of the Slayer as an ordained warrior, but certainly old enough to carry a weapon. I killed his family, ripped his arm off as we fought in single combat, then left him for dead. I was distracted by a proper Slayer, as I recall it.”  
  
“An all-too common occurrence,” Anita sighed. “Long gone are the Ages of Sin and Temptation, when we threw mere children onto the battlefield with little more than pistol and chain dagger, and yet still…” She trailed off, and shook her head. “My apologies for interrupting, Faenmoch.”  
  
“Indeed, indeed - a sacrifice which takes place by the million each day,” Faenmoch said with clear distaste. "In any case, I paid no attention to the child at the time. Fifty, perhaps sixty or seventy years later, that self same child, now a man, faced me in some other far-off place - only now, he wore the armour of an ordained Slayer, prosthetic arm held aloft as he swore to tear me limb from limb.”  
  
“He did not have his arm healed? I was under the impression that your mages could regenerate wounds of that sort, according to my reading of the Volumes of Unity,” Saren interjected.  
  
“Yes, it is possible to heal such wounds,” the Makron of Tongues noted, “but perhaps the child chose to bear that wound as a reminder. Or - well, I will not bore you with the intricacies of theurgic healing, but suffice to say that the boy’s very soul-patterns changed with that event; perhaps the loss of that arm was so moving, so pivotal, that you might say that the child’s natural, true self was without that limb.”  
  
“I would wager the latter was the case,” Faenmoch replied with a small chuckle. “Oh - the drive in that child’s eyes was the same I saw in him as a man - if I had taken both his arms, he would have bitten me to death if need be. Amidst a raging battle, he charged at me, screaming of vengeance and righteous, pure hate. Now, clearly, I am still here - but he was not lying when he said he would rip and tear me apart.” The demon gestured at his silver arms, tapping them with a clicking noise as metal fingers touched metal forearms. “He ripped my arms from their sockets, and was about to do the same to my head when he was called elsewhere by his comrades. Me - I was unimportant, and left to die upon the floor.”  
  
“I’d assumed that the, ah, forces of Hell didn’t practice medical care or casualty evacuation,” Saren mused.  
  
“Well - I most certainly was not evacuated,” Faenmoch snorted. “I awoke weeks later, Spectre Arterius, deep in the depths of Hell, brought before tribunal to face torture for my crime of failure.”  
  
Saren hummed with curiosity. “Failure to take your objectives? Or failure to die in combat?”  
  
“Both, Spectre. Hell is infinite, or is so large that it not being so matters little,” Faenmoch explained. “Perhaps - hmm - think of it this way. The Exitium’s non-military citizens work tirelessly each day to make its warriors fight harder, its sorcerers more powerful, its weapons more destructive. Hell, in turn, rarely innovates; rather, its entire society revolves around the powerful. The weak are killed in combat, or made to suffer; survivors are thrown back into the fray to test their might once more. So it is that Hell’s disgusting, abhorrent leadership - the foul minds which no doubt lurk in places unseen, directing the unholy and the abomination - effect ‘evolution.’ The unworthy die. The strong survive. This has been Hell’s method of war, for as long as I can recall.”  
  
Faenmoch paused, and when he spoke again his tone was no longer explanatory, but reverential; a near-whisper from his split-jaws which now worked back and forth slowly.  
  
“But before that boy-made-man left to join his comrades, he said something that festered in the back of my mind. ‘I lost everything, and my fellows made me stronger. With your failure here, demon scum, your kin will torture you more than I ever could. Rot eternally.’ And so it was - the tribune I faced put me through suffering unlike any other. I entered the Black Maw without arms, and left it without my crown; I suffered more punishment than I thought possible for longer than I thought feasible. Eventually I was, as I said before, thrown into the war once again, and I will with much shame admit that it took me nearly another five hundred years of reflection to truly understand that those words were true. The boy - the man - he was right! In all ways! The evidence had been there all along,” Faenmoch sputtered, tone rising into rapture. “It was so simple - let me ask you something, Spectre Arterius. Fifty thousand years of war with numbers so great that casualties mean nothing. Why, then, has Hell not defeated the Exitium? Why, Spectre Arterius, has Hell pushed the Exitium back to Gaia no less than four times, yet failed again and again to wipe out its most hated foe?”  
  
Saren thought for a moment, searching both himself and the appraising gazes of the ambassadors sitting before him.  
  
“Combination of factors,” Saren mused, “unity of purpose-”  
  
“-no! No, no, no, Saren, that’s a soldier’s answer - I speak not of tactics,” Faenmoch interrupted, his jaw almost shaking with excitement. “Basic philosophy, Saren - do you see it? Do you understand?”  
  
“You...uphold the weak where Hell rejects them?” Saren offered.  
  
“YES,” Faenmoch roared, raising his arms in excitement. “Correct, Saren, correct! Hell has superior numbers, superior resources, superior sorcery - and yet the Exitium fights on in the name of compassion. We make weak warriors strong, and those who cannot fight we protect to the death. Hell may have ever-stronger warriors, Saren, but in time they shall whittle down their number from ten million mighty champions to a hundred exemplars of unholy power. The Exitium, though? We shall raise our weak, Saren - every hand a fist, in time! At the anointed day, when the Doom Slayer Himself leads us into the Final Crusade, we shall not field a hundred, but a hundred quadrillion Sentinels ready to stamp out the unworthy stench of the demon. No numbers to replace the losses of Hell. No suffering great enough to stop our War Eternal.”  
  
“Blessed is His name, for the Doom Slayer guides our hate and our rage and makes our palms into fists,” Anita continued as all three signed their curious sigil once more. “Faenmoch is right! We know he is right - and everyone, from janitor to marksman to cook to berserker, we never fear or lose hope - because victory is guaranteed, so long as we do our duty.” She leaned forward, and grasped Saren’s hands with such speed and force that he nearly fought back on instinct; her eyes bored into his with a look that was half-pleading and half-rapture. “Maybe it will not end tomorrow. Maybe it will not end next year. Maybe the War Eternal will last fifty, a hundred, five-hundred-thousand, or a million years more - but we cannot lose. Our War Eternal has already been won! Blessed is His name!”  
  
“Blessed is His name,” Faenmoch agreed as the Makron signed himself once again, “though I think you might wish to let go of Spectre Arterius’ hands.”  
  
“Oh, Slayer,” Anita muttered, flushing as she jerked backwards. “My - you - I am so very sorry, Spectre. I meant nothing of it - I was simply so enraptured, I forgot my manners. Please - accept my most sincere apologies.”  
  
“It’s, ah, quite alright,” Saren said calmly with a smile despite wanting to jump out the window headfirst. “So, ah, getting back to your story, Ambassador egi Xakhal - you, ah, defected? After, ah, reflecting upon the Exitium’s evidently superior philosophy?”  
  
“I did indeed, Spectre Arterius! Once I had realized my stupidity, I waited until the next battle Hell’s masters charged me with leading; I waited until my forces had charged towards the Exitium’s lines, then attacked from behind. This was my test - for myself, you understand,” Faenmoch explained with a vigorous nod. “I would offer myself as sacrifice; I would reach the Exalted Exitium’s light and atone for my sins, or die trying. Yes, I lost my legs in the process, but with fury and strength born of pure and holy conviction, I survived, hurling my battered corpse at the Exitium’s battle-lines. When the battle was won by the Exitium, they took my body in, and I was subjected to the Rites of Redemption by the Church of the Redeemed - and once my probation was complete, and my penance begun in earnest, I was made whole once again.”  
  
“Your legs and crown,” Saren said, nodding. “Gold, unlike the silver of your arms - I’d guessed they were of different make.”  
  
“Indeed they were. Replacements for my legs and crown. Symbols, a Wretch-Priest told me, of the Slayer’s guiding Light and calming Fury.”  
  
Faenmoch paused, looking out the window; despite lacking eyes, Saren swore from his quivering head and shaking body that the summoner might have been crying, or something akin to it.  
  
“Symbols, Saren. Symbols. The broken, made whole. The weak, made strong. The helpless, protected,” Faenmoch said in a near-whisper, eyeless face pressed against the glass. “Look at me now, Spectre - a diplomat! For the Exitium!” He turned, took several breaths, and sighed contentedly. "If someone had told me upon my ascension from imp to summoner that I would find my true calling as a diplomat of the Exitium I would have gutted them on the spot. But we all have our sins to atone for, and in the stern, gentle fist of the Doom Slayer, blessed is His name, I found my purpose. My calling. My destiny.”  
  
“So have we all, Faenmoch,” the Makron of Tongues said soothingly. “Let His words guide you and His fist protect.”  
  
There was a long pause as the ambassadors looked to Saren; he coughed slightly and smiled as best as he could.  
  
“That was - is - very illuminating,” Saren managed. “A story like that must mean much for you to tell, especially to a, ah... newcomer to your culture like myself. In all your years you must have seen a great deal, changed a great deal - I may not speak for the Council officially, but I think that your attending the negotiations is a gift to us all. And, speaking personally - I think a lot of people, soldiers or not, could stand to learn a great deal from you, Ambassador egi Xakhal.”  
  
Faenmoch’s jaws clattered and clacked in a laugh as he waved a hand. “Oh, don’t flatter me just because I’m old. I might be well over six thousand years old - but believe me, most of that time was wasted. It is my understanding that your longest-lived neighbours are the krogan and the asari? They live until around, ah, a thousand-five-hundred, two thousand at the max? Let me say - personally, anyway - that in the grand scheme of things, the asari and krogan are as wise as anyone might think I am due to my age.”  
  
 _That’ll be the day. Krogan grandfather lecturing me_ , Saren thought as he nodded.  
  
“In any case, I think we can all learn much more from the lifespans of those like Councilor Valern and his salarian peoples,” Faenmoch mused.  
  
“Hmm. Care to explain? I think that’s an interesting opinion coming from you - from the opposite end of lifespans,” Saren said thoughtfully.  
  
“Well, they have so little time on this mortal plane. So little time to waste on flight of fancy and idiocy! Well, I do not mean to imply that every salarian is a noble, shining beacon of virtue and genius. Every race has its poor fools - look at me! - but a short life, spent savouring each moment available? I think that,” Faenmoch said with a wide smile, “is truly something to be treasured.”  
  
“You are not required to take this old, doddering fool’s advice, now,” Anita interjected with a snort. “Keep in mind that, in his old age, I have no doubt that the poor sap-”  
  
“-I am capable of hearing you from my seat here, you know-”  
  
“-bores you with his rambling. Did you know he spends whole days floating above his gardens, yelling at children to get off his property?” Anita continued, laughing.  
  
Somehow, Saren managed to remain composed.  
  
“That may not be a reference which resonates within the Citadel’s culture,” the Makron pointed out.  
  
“Oh, it is,” Saren replied as the convoy began to approach their destination. “My grandfather used to do that - sit on his balcony with an unloaded rifle, scream at us kids for playing on his yard.”  
  
“Spectre Arterius, do not encourage him any further,” Anita sighed as Faenmoch’s jaws clicked and clattered in laughter. “He does not need the ammunition.”  
  
“I’ll say nothing further, then, besides the fact that we’ve arrived,” Saren answered, his tone returning to flat professionalism. “If you’ll follow me,” he said, opening the aircar’s passenger doors, “I’ll escort you to the quarantined marines.”  
  


* * *

**Excerpt from** _The_ _Blessings of the Lector: Book Forty-Four, Chapter Six, Verse Twenty-two_

  
"...and so it was that the brave and noble defenders of the city-state which would be called Sunlust gazed upon the Doom Slayer, who alone stood before their city walls, and they begged of him:  
  
"O Doom Slayer, who walks amongst the Hells and knows only hate, O Doom Slayer, who kills without gun or blade, O Doom Slayer, whose fury knows no end! What would you have us do?"  
  
And the Doom Slayer leapt from floor to the highest parapet of the city walls, and He gazed upon them, awaiting their cries.  
  
"O Doom Slayer! If you cannot come to our aid, what shall we do? What shall we fight with, when our guns are empty and our blades are dull? What shall we eat, when our stores are empty and our rivers are blood?"  
  
The Doom Slayer said nothing, and simply pointed to the burning corpse of the Daemon Imperator, itself the size of ten thousand mountains, which lay beyond the city walls and blocked out the very sun. Then, the Doom Slayer leapt from the parapet to the skull of the foul creature with such force that its skull cracked open, and with His gentle fists beckoned for the wise folk of Sunlust to follow. Thus did He lead the wise folk of Sunlust into the demon's titanic being, ripping and tearing with His hands to create tunnels of flesh and bridges of bone and rivers of blood which could be trod upon and crossed and forded without trouble.  
  
He spent many days within the Daemon Imperator, and with few words did He teach many things.  
  
  
How to carve runes of blood and war from the bones of the unholy foe, so that even the weakest warrior could rip and tear;  
How to draw wards of healing and protection with the steaming blood of the unworthy demon, so that even the most ruined body could be made whole;  
How to make Hell-flesh palatable and edible, so that even the most savaged city might never feel hunger;  
  
This, and many things more lessons, all of which the wise folk would take to heart and spread across the stars.  
  
Many suns later, the Doom Slayer led his loyal students to the hindquarters of the Daemon Imperator, standing knee-deep in substances so vile and foul that to imagine it would be crippling - and yet, beholding His visage and hearing His words, the wise folk of Sunlust knew no discomfort and smelled only blood. They begged of Him:  
  
"O Doom Slayer, who has taught us the ways of the Hellwalker, Blood-Drinker and Flesh-Eater, how can we ever thank you for the infinite blessings you have bestowed upon us?"  
  
The Doom Slayer marched to the very end of the Daemon Imperator's hindquarters, and He ripped open the behind of the foul titan! He lead the wise folk into the open sun once more - but it was not sunlight, but His Light which soothed their souls. So it was that the Doom Slayer gestured to the many miles of viscera and organs and excrement that lay behind them, and when He spoke next so furious was his hate and so ferocious was his rage that the entire planet shook from His mighty speech!  
  
Then did The Command come from His mouth!  
  
Then did the wise folk hear His person speak of the Duty Most Divine!  
  
  
  


**RIP AND TEAR UNTIL IT IS DONE**   


  
  
So it is spoken! So it must be obeyed! We, who are His servants; We, who are the bulwark against the heretic and the demon MUST carry out His order!  
  
Let every priest sing and every warrior shout! Know that the work of the Exalted Exitium shall not end and that no soul can rest - not until every demon, every heretic, every denizen of Hell has been ripped to pieces, the flesh torn from their bones and their bones ground to dust and the dust burnt in the fire of hate until not even ash remains!  
  
Yours is the name that guards us from sin..."


	7. TERROR (III)

Saren exited the car first, joining six of the Exitium’s Honour Guard and dozens of C-SEC officers; the convoy had stopped in a semi-closed garage built next to the secure loading bays of Chalua Hospital’s restricted section. Satisfied that the area was reasonably secure, Saren gestured for the protection teams to spread out.  
  
“Clear - ambassadors, we’re ready,” Saren said. The ambassadors left their vehicle, and followed Saren as he lead them to a security hatch at the rear of the garage; a pair of armed hospital security guards waited there for them, along with Doctor Moreith Serellis.  
  
“Ambassadors of the Exalted Exitium, “ the asari doctor said with a deep bow, “it is my pleasure to receive you. I am Moreith Serellis, the woman in charge of overseeing the isolation and quarantine procedures with respect to the turian marines you’ve come to see today. “  
  
“The honour is ours, milady,” the Makron of Tongues replied. “We understand that it must be difficult to accept our speak of magic, corruption and the like - so you have our gratitude for accepting our being here. “  
  
Moreith opened her mouth, closed it, and looked pensive for a moment; finally, she simply shrugged and sighed. “You’re right. It is difficult. I’ll say that the matter of Spear Corporal Druso was rather… upsetting, to say the least, but the marines in question appear in my eyes to be doing well, especially in comparison to how Mr. Druso was before his, ah, cleansing.”  
  
“That is a good sign, “ Faenmoch noted with audible relief. “Speaking generally, demonic corruption is visibly self-evident - but it never hurts to be careful.”  
  
“I agree. This way, ambassadors.”  
  
Moreith and her guards led the group past the security hatch and into the isolation wing beneath Chalua Hospital; row after row of security checkpoints waved them by, and in short order the group had taken a side corridor which placed them in front of a long series of cells.  
  
“Well, here they are,” Moreith said flatly, pointing at a nearby holoterminal mounted in the wall. “If you’d like to access any of their cell camera feeds, or pull up any scans of their brain activity, I can do so via that terminal there.”  
  
“There won’t be any need for that, Doctor - we can sense their presence from here,” Anita said with a bright smile. “I’ll need the opinions of my esteemed colleagues, of course - but I think we’ll be letting these men go free today.”  
  
“Yes - I sense a distinct lack of the demonic as well,” Faenmoch said, chuckling. “Except for myself, naturally.”  
  
“Well - I can do nothing but agree. Of course, I would still suggest keeping an eye on our poor warriors here for the time being, just to be sure,” the Makron added with a shrug, “but in truth I think that to be more of a formality than anything. Personally, I would recommend some form of counseling or therapy, though - records are scarce from our First Age, but they speak to the lasting trauma and terror inflicted upon those who fought against Hell’s forces without the proper protection and equipment.”  
  
Moreith looked at Saren, her guards, the ambassadors, then at the cells with a concerned expression on her face. “Just like that? You simply, ah, sense that these men are of good, ahem, spiritual health?”  
  
“Yes?” Faenmoch’s jaws clicked together slightly. “I know it must seem strange to you, my good doctor, but rest assured - these men bear no cancers upon their spirits.”  
  
“I...if you’re certain,” Moreith said slowly. “Spectre Arterius?”  
  
Saren frowned as the asari addressed him. “Is there a problem?”  
  
“Ah, no, I suppose not. Never mind.”  
  
“Wonderful! In that case - well - so long as these fine soldiers remain visibly untouched by matters demonic for a day or few longer, I would see no trouble in letting them go. With that solved - Spectre Arterius, would you escort us above ground once more?” Anita asked. “With the fates of these warriors spoken for, I would very much like to show you the good even one of our healers can work.”  
  
“Of course. Doctor Serellis, you’ll receive further instructions regarding the proper discharge procedures of the isolated marines within the next twelve hours,” Saren said with a nod. “That will be all - we’ll return topside now.”  
  
“Of course.” Saren took the lead alongside Moreith, and with her guards bringing up the rear the group began walking back the way they’d came; as they waited at one of the security checkpoints, Moreith furiously keyed something into her omnitool, and a small message notification appeared in Saren’s HUDspace.  
  
 _Short Range Communications - M. Serellis, Dr. - Due respect - what the fuck is going on? They didn’t even check the marines’ vitals, and we’re letting them go?_  
  
Saren snorted under his breath, eyes flicking about his HUD as he saccaded a response.  
  
 _Short Range Communications - Reply - Classified._  
  
Moreith shot a glare at Saren; he simply shrugged in return, and from that point on the doctor - rather pointedly - ignored him for the rest of the thankfully short walk. Once the group had returned to the garage on the ground floor of the hospital and reconvened with their own security teams, Moreith muttered a curt goodbye before disappearing once more.  
  
“Well, I think that went quite well,” the Makron of Tongues said happily. “If it pleases you, Spectre Arterius, I think we’d like to have our healer escorted to the hospital now.”  
  
“Of course. A moment, please.” Saren tapped at his omnitool, pulling up Castis’ contact tab; his call was picked up within seconds.  
  
“Spectre Arterius,” Castis said somewhat stiffly. “Is everything alright?”  
  
“Yes, Captain Vakarian. We’re ready to receive the Exitium’s healer now.”  
  
“Ah. That was, ah, quick,” Castis replied slowly.  
  
“Castis?” Saren asked, shifting his comms into subvocals. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“Nothing, Spectre, just - well, that was faster than I was expecting. Also, just - their healer wasn’t quite what I was expecting,” Castis replied; Saren swore he could hear Alec Ryder’s booming, raucous laughter in the background.  
  
“How so?”  
  
“Uh...she’s a Redeemed demon. Just doesn’t look anything like Ambassador egi Xakhal, is all.”  
  
“That shouldn’t concern you, Castis. Just escort the healer and whatever tools she needs down here, please,” Saren replied sourly. “Unless there’s going to be an issue with that?”  
  
“Ah - no, of course not, Spectre. We’ll - I’ll get on that at once.”  
  
Saren watched as Castis’ icon disappeared before turning to face the ambassadors. “I’ve just finished speaking with Captain Vakarian; he, alongside Lord Protector Ryder, will be arriving shortly with your chosen healer. I did have a question, however - Captain Vakarian seemed...concerned about the appearance of the healer in question.”  
  
“Grahtial iut Ohvruss - she’s a Redeemed Pain Elemental, if you recall their form?” Faenmoch answered, tilting his head.  
  
Saren blinked, recalling - vaguely, at first, then clearly - the massive, floating single-eyed heads with jaws as wide as its entire body.  
  
“Yes. Yes, I do recall.” Saren sighed, wondering briefly if there might be some chance for him to give this job to someone else, before rubbing at his forehead. “Yes, this - I - well, I mean no offense, ambassadors, but - forgive me if this is out of line. I am no diplomat.”  
  
“Speak freely, Spectre,” Anita said softly. “You will not wound us with your words.”  
  
Saren cleared his throat. “Okay - your healer - Lady iut Ohvruss? - she...does not resemble, even remotely, anything that the denizens of the Citadel are used to. You are familiar with the species which make their residence here?”  
  
“Yes, we are,” the Makron of Tongues replied, nodding slowly. “Go on?”  
  
“She - Lady iut Ohvruss, that is to say - she is a floating ball of teeth. With a glowing red eye. And she floats - I’m assuming - without the assistance of any sort of technological device. Also, if I recall correctly, she maintains - I believe it was termed a ‘internal bounded field’ in the Volumes of Unity? - which holds something like two to three dozen familiars which appear as flaming humanoid skulls?” Saren paused, sighing. “That’s all correct?”  
  
“Yes, it is,” Faenmoch noted, jaws easing open in an obvious sign of confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”  
  
“Fairly or otherwise, Lady iut Ohvruss’, well, entire appearance and manners are going to be cause for great, ahem, alarm, from most people on the Citadel,” Saren explained with painful clarity. “Yes, there are non-bipedal lifeforms on the Citadel - but none which look as threatening to the average citizen as Lady iut Ohvruss. I cannot expect that the people of the Citadel will take kindly to her at first sight, let alone those who reside in a hospital.”  
  
The ambassadors exchanged glances, and then nodded slowly.  
  
“Ohhhhh,” Faenmoch groaned, shaking his head. “That - yes. That does make sense. Again - we hadn’t even considered that, to be entirely honest. Damnation. Well, ah...perhaps...a covering, of sorts? Something to shield Lady iut Ohvruss from onlookers, for now?”  
  
“I must protest,” the Makron interjected. “A covering? I mean - I understand that for those who have not seen a Pain Elemental in the flesh, their appearance might be...frightening, I suppose, but surely you must consider Lady iut Ohvruss’ feelings on the matter. Would that not be rather dispiriting for her? To have to cover herself, especially while administering healing upon her wards? Surely, Spectre Arterius, as one of the Council’s most elite warriors, you must know that appearances do not mean everything.”  
  
“I understand, Makron, and allow me to reassure you - if it were simply my own thoughts we had to consider,” Saren lied through his teeth, “we would allow all of you to roam freely across the Citadel. Alas, that isn’t the case. Still - a covering might be too much. I think a simple warning to the hospital’s staff, and taking care that Lady iut Ohvruss is not shown to people not in-the-know, so to speak, will be more than enough.”  
  
“An excellent idea! Again, we shall defer to you,” Faenmoch said, bobbing slightly as he clapped his hands together.  
  
“Wonderful,” Saren sighed. “If you’ll follow me, we’ll head into the hospital proper and inform the authorities of our incoming arrival.”  
  
This time, the group and their guards took a different door which lead them through the ground floors of Chalua Hospital’s restricted areas - primarily offices occupied by archivists, researchers and the odd security guard, all of whom gave the motley group a wide berth wherever possible. With a quick tap of his omnitool, Saren sent a pre-written message to the hospital’s administrator, and by the time he’d lead the ambassadors to their designated waiting area inside a maintenance corridor not far from the hospital’s main lobby he found a lanky, labcoat-clad salarian with a small ID-tag pinned to his chest waiting next to an elevator.  
  
“Spectre Arterius and the Exalted Exitium’s ambassadors, I presume?” the salarian said, bowing slightly.  
  
“That would be us, yes,” Saren replied flatly. _How’d you figure it out?_  
  
“Director Jopol Ibam at your service,” the Salarian continued, either ignoring or missing Saren’s jab. “It’s a pleasure to receive you. I understand that you’re here to demonstrate the use of your healing magics on some of our patients?”  
  
“Well - not us personally, Director,” the Makron of Tongues said, chuckling. “Though the three of us know a bit of healing-thaumaturgy ourselves, we’re not masters of the art - and, given the novel nature of magic to you and your peoples we figured it would be prudent to give the honours to someone better trained.”  
  
“Ah, I see - of course, of course,” Jopol replied, nodding sagely. “I assume your healer is enroute?”  
  
“She is being escorted her and will arrive shortly, though we’d like to issue a warning regarding her appearance,” Saren noted; he pulled up a saved diagram of a Pain Elemental from his omnitool and showed it to Jopol. The salarian twitched slightly, but his expression remained unchanged as he studied it for a moment.  
  
“Oh - I understand. I’ll send a notice right away, and we’ll do our best to restrict visitors both on and off the hospital grounds - we have procedures in place to deal with matters like these, in any case, so it won’t be an issue for our staff,” Jopol explained. “We’re used to dealing with patients who want or need privacy, so the lack of notice really isn’t an issue either.”  
  
 _Either you’re the best doctor I’ve ever seen,_ Saren mused while Jopol typed away at his omnitool, _or you’re an enormous suck-up. Not that I’d blame you for either, I suppose._  
  
“That is good to hear - I know these circumstances must be very unusual,” Lady Goyle noted with evident relief. “And I know, from experience, that allowing a medical practitioner of foreign origin - especially one whose methods have no reference with your own - to practice in your hospital is an incredible honour and responsibility. You have our word that the healer in question - Lady Grahtial iut Ohrvuss - will do her utmost to preserve the sanctity and good name of your facility."  
  
“I appreciate the sentiment,” Jopol replied with a wide smile which quickly faded into a pensive look. “I will note that Lady iut Ohrvuss will likely be unable to fit into the room where our consenting patients will be waiting, however; the decontamination tunnel which separates the treatment room we’ve laid out and the viewing area is rather small. We can move the patients into a separate room, though doing so might take a while.”  
  
“I do not think you need to worry, Director Ibam,” Faenmoch said with a wave of his hand. “With the assistance of her familiars, Lady iut Ohrvuss can practice her healing remotely; in truth, she could probably remain here on the ground floor and do her work unimpeded. Of course, I am sure you understand that she would prefer to be able to see her patients.”  
  
“Familiars?” Jopal blinked several times, then shrugged. “Ah - that would be the...skull, I noticed in the image. Is it...safe?”  
  
“Perfectly so - each familiar remains under indirect control of its master. So long as the hospital - and Lady iut Ohrvuss - remain untouched by demonic incursion, there quite literally is no risk of anything untoward happening,” Faenmoch said cheerfully.  
  
Jopol remained silent in thought for several moments before finally shrugging. “So long as I have your word, then.”  
  
The next few minutes passed in relative peace, with the ambassadors and Jopal exchanging relatively simple questions; they both fell silent once Saren’s comms pinged with an incoming message.  
  
“I’m assuming that would be Lady iut Ohrvuss?” Jopol asked.  
  
Saren nodded stiffly. “Correct. Lord Protector Ryder of the Exalted Exitium and our own Captain Vakarian will be escorting her in - you have people in place to guide them here?”  
  
“Of course,” Jopol replied. “While I’ve never personally overseen the treatment - or arrival - of...those foreign to Citadel space, it has happened before - and as I noted, many of our patients require measures taken to protect their privacy.”  
  
“Alright. I’m going out to meet Captain Vakarian - keep your comms open,” Saren ordered, addressing the Exitium’s honour guards and his own C-Sec personnel, “and if you think anything - anything - seems off, call it in.”  
  
Satisfied at the sight of the assembled bodyguards taking up defensive positions around the ambassadors and the hallway, Saren made his way through the now-deserted lobby of the hospital; the foyer, too, had been cleared, and the main entrance’s doors were now covered entirely by a long blackout tent which terminated in a covered entrance which now housed no less than six armoured C-Sec transports. The back doors of the transports opened, and dozens of C-Sec personnel - with a smattering of Exitium honour guards thrown in - disembarked, taking up positions along the tent corridor. The final, central vehicle opened its doors once the other guards were ready, and Saren watched with amusement as Lord Protector Ryder and Lady iut Ohrvuss - who was, in Saren’s estimation, quite possibly one of the most intimidating beings he’d ever seen up close - followed by an exhausted and frazzled-looking Castis.  
  
“Ah, Saren,” Alec bellowed in what Saren had decided was the quietest voice the man could manage, “it is good to see you once again! May I introduce Her Holiness, Lady Abbess-Chirurgeon Grahtial iut Ohrvuss.” He gestured to the Pain Elemental behind him; she was, as far as Saren could tell, identical to the images he’d seen before, save for a bronze circlet ringed just above her horns from which two long white ribbons fell. She held a small satchel in one hand with its handles looped around her arm, and her other hand was festooned with bracelets and rings. She floated forward, and bobbed slightly in front of Saren with her hands clasped together.  
  
“Sir Spectre,” Grahtial growled with a voice that sounded eerily like a krogan Battlemaster ready to tear something in half, “it is an honour to meet and be protected by a warrior of your calibre. If it pleases you, I would like to be escorted to my would-be patients at this time.”  
  
Castis, Saren dimly noted, was now standing off to one side, rubbing at his fringe and doing his best to remain firmly out of mind.  
  
“Of course, milady,” Saren replied as flatly as he could. “I trust that Captain Vakarian’s protection served you well?”  
  
“Ah, indeed,” Grahtial noted, her enormous jaw opening to reveal countless rows of teeth. “His acumen as a conversational partner served me well; though I availed myself of whatever resources I could lay my eye upon, I also figured that all the reading in the world would not prepare me to meet the people of your Citadel in the same way that hearing things from a living person would.”  
  
“Quite the storyteller indeed,” Alec added, clapping Castis on the back as he very clearly ignored the look of exhausted desperation on Castis’ face. “Shall we?”  
  
“Please,” Castis sighed. “We shouldn’t linger out here.”  
  
“Onwards, then, my good sirs.” With another bob - that Saren was beginning to think might be her equivalent of a bow or curtsey - she turned and waited for Saren and Castis to take the lead, with a trio of guards led by Alec taking up the rear.  
  
“So,” Saren said cheerfully as they walked briskly back towards the hospital, “you learn anything interesting?”  
  
“How about,” Castis grumbled, “we switch places after this? I’m sure you and Alec would get along real great, being soldiers and all. Oh - and I think my crew and I would have appreciated a heads-up about, ah, Lady Grahtial’s...aesthetic, beforehand? Things got a little tense, if you know what I mean.”  
  
“Apologies, Captain Vakarian. I’m afraid my orders come from the Council directly,” Saren replied with a smirk, “and I wasn’t privy to the...information regarding the Exalted Exitium’s designated healer until quite recently. My sincerest apologies.”  
  
“Pulling rank on me. Seriously? Jackass,” Castis grunted, though Saren noted a faint smile on the man’s face.  
  
In short order, the group returned to the side hall where the Exitium’s ambassadors and Director Ibam were waiting; the reactions from his assigned C-Sec personnel were, thankfully, minimal at the sight of Lady Grahtial, and much to Saren’s surprise Jopol didn’t so much as twitch.  
  
“Ah, you must be Lady iut Ohrvuss,” Jopol said, bowing deeply in greeting. “Director Jopol Ibam at your sevice - and may I say, it is, truly, an honour to have you here. If you’ll follow me down the hall, I have several patients in the palliative care wing who’ve consented to your magic-based procedures as part of a clinical trial of sorts.”  
  
“Palliative - Slayer,” Grahtial growled with a sigh, “I am blessed to be here and to be in your care at this moment, Director Ibam. Let me say this - from this day forward, you may look forward to ridding your institutions of such sad places.”  
  
“I...see. The ambassadors here informed me that your curative magics have, ah, deprecated the need for things like long-term care and palliative facilities, but you’ll forgive me if I hesitate to believe that without proof,” Jopol replied slowly as he led the assembled group towards a large elevator marked Elcor / Maintenance at the end of the hall. “If I also understand correctly - you will not need operating facilities, or even a sterile environment to work in?”  
  
“That is indeed correct, Director. Unimpeded physical proximity to the patients in question, a surface to draw on and a bit of time will be all I need. Assuming a lack of magical interference or some sort of...variance in how soul mechanics work for Citadel citizens - which I highly doubt, to be frank - I should very easily be able to heal a dozen souls in less than an hour,” the Pain Elemental explained as the group entered the elevator and began ascending.  
  
Jopol - apparently dumbfounded or unable to believe what he was hearing - simply nodded dumbly and stared at the wall, and the rest of the ride passed in silence. Once they were in the ward proper, Jopol ushered the group into a small hallway lined with sealed doorways; Saren motioned for the guards to take up positions outside, and the salarian Director led the rest of the group into a small room; four individuals, two turian, an asari and a drell lay in hospital beds on the other side of a thick transparent airlock-sterilizer. "These are our patients," she said, turning to Grahtial. "I'm not sure what you require from this point on - shall I let you work?”  
  
“That would suit me very well. May I enter the patients’ chambers, then?” Grahtial asked.  
  
“You may,” Jopol answered with a curious nod.  
  
Saren followed Jopol, the ambassadors and Grahtial through the airlock; the Pain Elemental smiled - probably - and bobbed deeply towards the ground as the patients all turned to examine the group with looks of ill-concealed unease, if not genuine terror.  
  
“I am Grahtial iut Ohrvuss, of the Exalted Exitium,” she said in something that might have been an attempt to sound comforting, though Saren couldn’t help but think that, if anything, she sounded even more disturbing. “It is my understanding that the four of you have consented to receive my magic as an experimental way to cure what you believe to be terminal illnesses. Is that correct?”  
  
There was silence for several moments, though eventually all four patients nodded rather weakly and murmured their assent with even less energy.  
  
“Thank you - I know this is a great deal to take in,” Grahtial said with another bob. “I feel it necessary to inform you, my good patients, that while our healing magics do not cause pain except in cases of demonic corruption, those not familiar with theurgic healing have mentioned that it can be a tad uncomfortable. Patients often report feeling a searing sort of heat - but I assure you, the feeling is harmless and will pass. I must also note that I will be making use of a familiar - worry not, for it bears you no ill will and will only serve to make the healing process faster and safer than it already is."  
  
When the Pain Elemental opened her mouth next, a whirling fire appeared in her throat, and as a horned humanoid skull wreathed in white fire and projecting a sigil of some sort above its head appeared from the fire Saren had to force himself not to draw his sidearm and begin shooting; Jopol actually yelped slightly, though much to Saren’s surprise the only reactions that came from the patients seemed to be muted surprise.  
  
 _I suppose,_ Saren thought as he took several deep breaths and took his hand off his belt holster, _if all you do is sit around waiting to die there’s not a whole lot that’ll scare you._  
  
“This is Rakka - one of my Saved Souls, and a loyal assistant,” Grahtial explained, pointing at the skull - which was now bobbing lazily around Grahtial and chattering to itself. “The fire she projects is harmless, if a little warm, and once again I assure you, besides desiring the occasional pat on the head you will quickly find her fading into the background. Now - let us begin.” She floated over to the drell first, skull in tow, and smiled as she held her hands over him. “What is your name, sir?”  
  
"H-huto," the man whispered, voice rasping with obvious effort. "Huto Shoak.”  
  
Before Jopol could explain, Grahtial simply nodded as her hands began to glow a pale white. "Ahhh, I see," she said, blinking several times. "Your organs - they are...eroded? You cannot take in oxygen - not properly, in any case.”  
  
"That's correct," Jopol said, expression flat and neutral. "It’s called Kepral’s Syndrome - a result of long-term exposure to what most would consider medium to high humidity, something drell physiology isn't capable of handling. Despite our best efforts, it remains incurable - condemning Mr. Shoak, and many others of his species, to a slow death by organ failure.”  
  
“I see - yes, I understand. Of course. Rakka - if you please. Mr. Shoak, my familiar will appraise your health, physical and spiritual, while I prepare my healing arrays.” Grahtial floated back slightly, opening her satchel and withdrawing several items, all of which floated in front of her as if suspended by an unseen mass effect field: several sticks of chalk, dozens of vials containing bright, thick liquids and a handful of pouches which held what Saren guessed were various ores and herbs. Saren watched - recording all the while - as the Pain Elemental drew a large circle on the wall with the chalk, filling it in with a complex array of geometries and symbols using the liquids, stones and plants at her disposal.  
  
At last, with the symbol complete, Grahtial turned around and closed her eye as Rakka’s white flames shifted to a golden-yellow; the Pain Elemental spoke, her guttural voice strained as though she were concentrating. “Right - yes - I see, I see - indeed. Your organs are degenerated and failing, yes, but your noetic patterns are quite clear - even if your body is failing you, Mr. Shoak, your mind and your spirit remember what it means to be healthy. Your soul is free of corruption - and thus, I need only a moment to heal you. It will be a simple solution for a simple issue - I shall take your root image from your soul, re-apply the organ matrix to your physical body, and you will be renewed. Take a deep breath - and please, though you may feel a warmth of sorts, do tell me if anything hurts - one, two, three-”  
  
Saren watched with concern as the array on the wall shone a brilliant red as the various items within began to pulse various colours, the chalks and liquids flowing as if being stirred. Huto's body began to glow a pale red, and the drell looked around nervously; Grahtial placed a hand on his arm.  
  
"It's alright, Mr. Shoak. Just try and relax. There's nothing to worry about - tell me, does that hurt, my good sir?”  
  
Huto coughed, and shook his head. "Warm, very warm, bu - but I'm okay."  
  
“That is good to hear! Now - your physical organ matrix is returned to its proper form, your soul is bound - I will open a channel to the Source and allow a bit of aether-mana to flow through you. Rakka - mana drain on standby, if you please.” The skull obliged, stopping its movement, and a jet of green shot out from Grahtial’s hands, flowed into Huto’s chest and out his feet into Rakka’s mouth; the drell opened his eyes in confusion, though he remained still. “Regeneration theurgy is above acceptable limits, wards are stable - now, Mr. Shoak, this is going to feel rather strange for you but I ask that you remain still - three, two, one-”  
  
Saren’s jaw dropped in pure awe as a ghostly image of the drell appeared above his still body before floating down and merging with Huto’s body; the drell gasped, flinching as the room flashed a blinding, brilliant green - and then Huto jolted upright, eyes wide as he breathed deep, full breaths, patting his body with a rapturous expression.  
  
“And that shall be all, I think,” Grahtial all but screeched, backing away as the light from her hands faded away. “My good sir - how do you feel?” she asked cheerfully.  
  
"I...I can breathe," Huto said, grinning wildly as he began to cry. "I can breathe! Lusatios bring you luck and fortune, I can shout!"  
  
“Please, restrain your voice,” Grahtial growled, patting him on the arm gently. “This is a small room, and I would ask that you keep your volume low as not to disturb anyone else.”  
  
“I’m sorry - I’m just - this is amazing,” Huto replied, grinning madly as he took Grahtial’s hand and eased himself out of his bed. “I - how - how? I feel better than I’ve ever felt - I don’t think I’ve had - I’ve barely been able to get myself out of bed in years! I feel like I could go for a run right this minute!”  
  
“Now, now, Mr. Shoak - please, do calm yourself - while you are healed, I think it best that you take things easily for a while - we would not want you to injure yourself so quickly after being restored to proper health,” Grahtial said, chuckling - a noise that, in Saren’s opinion, sounded like an elcor being pushed through an industrial meat grinder. “In any case - I have enough theurgic fuel with me for another - ah, let us say, six, perhaps seven dozen more healings before I will need to restock from my stores on our ship. Director Ibam, shall I continue?”  
  
There was a long, long silence; the whole room turned to face the salarian doctor, whose face was cycling through concern, astonishment, terror and joy, over and over again.  
  
"Y-yes, milady," he said after a moment in a near-whisper. "I'd like to see that again. Please."  
  
  
  
Two hours later, Saren Arterius returned to the Council Hall, waving his way past the various security stations, and entered the meeting room the Councilors had reserved for his debriefing with a blank stare on his face.  
  
“Spectre Arterius? Spirits - what’s the matter?” Sparatus asked, standing up. “We messaged you and you said that you would report to us directly - what happened? I’ve never seen you...worried before.”  
  
“They’ve got magic,” Saren said, shrugging. “It’s magic. That’s it. I’ve got - I had a cousin who died from Lorossian Blight. Terrible luck. Nothing could have prevented it. Poor kid - his bones rotted into dust. We had to euthanize him at the age of four, and we were told it was a miracle - a miracle! - that he made it past two. And that giant, floating head of theirs - they brought her a kid with the blight and she just magicked it away. Gone! Like that. All the bones back, like nothing happened. Gone for good.” Saren grumbled under his breath as he sunk into a nearby chair. “No sterile environment. No operating table. Just some chalk and some rocks and some fancy liquids - Councilors, Lady Grahtial healed everything the hospital could throw at her with a single set of tools. They had a quarantine ward, for hyper-infectious diseases - and she healed those patients from two floors away. And I watched it happen - I have the recordings. So - either they’ve got nanotechnology that lets them cure novel alien diseases from hundreds of metres away, or they’ve got magic, and I don’t like either answer,” Saren snapped, waving his omnitool. “You think I’ve been compromised, or I’m exaggerating - look, I recorded all of it.”  
  
The Councilors watched in stunned silence for nearly half an hour as Lady iut Ohrvuss and Rakka carried out ritual after ritual, an endless parade of Chalua Hospital’s patients brought to her ill and leaving as if they’d never been sick in their lives. Once it began looping, Saren turned off the boardroom’s holoprojector, and sighed.  
  
“The only reason we stopped was because Lady Grahtial ran out of fuel for her magic - and she only carried a small bag with her because she wasn’t sure her magic would work. Spirits - apparently, the ship the ambassadors rode in on has enough, ah, “theurgic fuel” in their medbay to heal - at least - several thousand people before they dip into the stuff they’re reserving for their own personnel.” Saren swallowed, hard, and scowled. “They could clear out every palliative care ward on the Citadel, and then some, and it would be nothing. An inconvenience, if that.”  
  
“Your thoughts, Spectre Arterius?” Councilor Valern said cautiously. “I get the sense that you think this is a rather negative turn of events.”  
  
“You’re right, Councilor - I think this is a disaster,” Saren muttered. “I mean - it's wonderful that they can heal just about anything. That’s lovely. But - I mean - I thought about this, tactically. Their magic lets them heal any wound, any injury, in seconds - what does their ‘war-sorcery’ look like? They mentioned that their healing is ‘theurgic’ - based in miracles. I didn’t believe them, and party of me still wants to deny what I saw - but their Volumes of Unity talk about theurgic bombs. Miracle-powered ordnance. And, what, they’re still at war with this Hell of theirs?” Saren looked up, his tone - for the first time as long as he could remember - slipping into genuine distress. “I’ve got two conclusions. One: they’re not lying about how insane their war is - even after fifty-thousand years, an arsenal powered by honest-to-the-Spirits magic hasn’t been enough to beat an enemy whose only goal is the wholesale slaughter of anything not like itself. Two: their foe doesn’t exist, or is a tool that keeps the civilian populace in line - which means we’re facing an authoritarian theocracy, armed with literal magic, populated with zealous crusaders held together only by a constructed foe. The best part is, I can’t even tell which outcome is worse.”  
  
A deafening silence filled the room.  
  
“Alright - ah, Spectre Arterius, thank you for your input,” Councilor Tevos said slowly. “I...this certainly isn’t ideal, but at the moment we need to think short-term. No doubt news of this...healing magic is going to spread to the public quickly, and if we’re to prevent rioting we need to have some sort of policy in place.”  
  
“I already discussed that possibility with Director Ibam, Ambassador egi Xakhal and Captain Vakarian,” Saren noted quietly. “It’s not an official order or the like, but we figured that while negotiations continue, Lady Grahtial and a few other healers can go to all of the other major hospitals and heal based on a triage system, staring with terminal patients and moving down from there. Ambassador Goyle will bring this up tomorrow, but they’re hoping to set up some sort of permanent medical facility the next time they’re aboard the Citadel in addition to a consulate. Apparently, from what little research they’ve done, the...fuels they need to do their healing magic can be commonly found throughout the Citadel with a few exceptions, which they can always bring themselves.”  
  
“That’s - I think that’s an excellent idea,” Sparatus said, rubbing at his fringe. “Spirits. And I thought this day couldn’t possibly get any worse - or any stranger. I think a drink is in order.”  
  
“I think a drink is in order for all of us,” Tevos muttered. “Still - earlier, I asked for your preliminary thoughts on the Exitium’s capabilities in terms of their standing against the Citadel races. I assume you’ve...updated your assessment?”  
  
“I have,” Saren said with a snort. “We’re in danger. Look - I understand that they claim to be peaceful, but I’m a Spectre - I think defensively. And while I still don’t think they’d win a war overnight with us, their magic being real - I have to assume that it, or something like it, is real - means that at the very minimum any casualties we inflict upon them might as well be for nothing. Their basic FTL technology is faster and more effecient than ours. Their advanced FTL lets them teleport from their home planet to the Citadel within minutes. Their industrial output? Unmatched. And their military - well, we don’t have hard proof, but I’m sure you get the idea.”  
  
Valern made a groaning noise, shaking his head. "I have to basically agree with all of that, and frankly I don't even know what we could do to mount an effective defense against any of that. We're already shifting into defensive posture as fast as we can but just...throwing ourselves into war posture without hesitation would destroy the Citadel's economy. I hate to say it, but I think we're going to have to take the Exitium at it's word that it'll hold to its promises."  
  
"At the very least, I think they'll do so," Tevos said, shrugging. "Perhaps it's reaching for a silver lining, but the Exitium's ambassadors seem to be...simple folk, at least with respect to their political acumen. Any sort of political finagling, I think, is out of the question until we can at least place ourselves in a better defensive position."  
  
“I think what gets to me the most,” Saren concluded, “is that they don’t even recognize themselves as a threat to us. Everyone I’ve spoken to so far - from their rank-and-file to the ambassadors themselves - I don’t think they, well, understand our existence, not truly. Not being at war, not fighting an existential threat for fifty-thousand-years - they can’t wrap their heads around it. Ambassador egi Xakhal even mentioned that he thinks our politics are difficult, because we don’t have their War Eternal to unify us. To be perfectly honest - I think we can do whatever we want, negotiate for whatever we want, and as long as we don’t offend their moral sensibilities or interrupt their war, they won’t care. At all. Because, Councilors, they only care about one thing - their war on Hell. And - you should know this hurts to say - that scares the absolute shit out of me.”


	8. INTERLUDE I: THE CITADEL

_**18th of the Third Umbral Wind, Year 1157 of the Twenty-Sixth Age**  
**(June 18, 2657 Galactic Standard)** _

_  
_  
Urdnot Wrex drained yet another can of sovak, crushed it, and tossed it towards the wastebin across the living room, sinking the shot with a satisfying ping; reaching over for another can, he sighed as he realized the two-four of Tuchankan Fist he'd gotten as a thank-you-gift after parting from his last employer was now empty. Instead, he reached under his couch for the small cooler he kept tucked there, popped it open, and grabbed a budget no-name brand bottle of elasa, tearing the cap open with his teeth; one lengthy swig later, he returned to watching whatever was on the holo at the moment.  
  
_-but luxury is more than just wealth. Luxury is an atmosphere and a lifestyle - and with the new 2657 Endura Luxe, luxury can be yours for the taking. With six dozen best-in-class awards, unparalleled safety ratings, groundbreaking modularity, and all new custom-designed seating, upholstery and interior styling made exclusively for us by the legendary Sarilvi D'ratora, anyone who sees your 2657 Endura Luxe will know - you’re don’t just own luxury, you’re living it. The all-new 2657 Endura Luxe by Armali Driveworks-  
  
-’aint no way there’ll be anyone else who’ll be feedin’ you quite like we can, partner, or I’ll deep-fry my own quad and serve it to you fresh! So come on down to Fat Kharm’s Fry Shack, located in Zakera Ward at the corner of Ajax and the Z-4 promenade-  
  
-when you buy Parohe, you’re not just buying a starship. You’re buying peace of mind. You’re buying reliability. You’re buying three hundred years of award-winning engineering experience. You’re buying an experience unlike any other. Buy Parohe, fly with confidence. This week only, choose any Venture-class transport freighter for-_  
  
“-We’re interrupting your previous programming with incredible breaking news. I’m Nuria Edaze, reporting live from Relay Beacon News’ Situation Room. An explosive announcement from the Citadel was made available approximately two hours ago to the Lower Council Press Corps - at some point in the past few days, peaceful First Contact was made with an alien society calling itself the Exalted Exitium. The media blackout has officially been lifted, and select portions of the Contact Package from the Exalted Exitium are now available from official CitadelNet terminals; our analysts and correspondents have been hard at work sifting through the incredible information contained within. Luciter Agamus, Lead Council Correspondent, has more information; Luciter, can you explain the nature of this Exalted Exitium briefly? And how is the Council - and the Lower Council - reacting?”  
  
“Well, Nuria, ah, from our initial analysis and reports the Exalted Exitium is primarily composed of the ‘human’ race - as my holoboard shows they’re strikingly similar in appearance to asari - alongside several other smaller minority groups, as displayed on the panel to my right. The news that has many Council members, Lower or otherwise, rather worried is - well - ah - the Exalted Exitium is - well they claim to have been at war with...demons. From the underworld. For nearly fifty thousand years.”  
  
“Ah…ahem. Right. Uh...that is...certainly different.”  
  
“It most certainly is, Nuria, and, uh, while of course everyone involved in the diplomatic oversight of Contact procedures are approaching this situation with an open mind, it’s obvious that tensions are high; an anonymous source from within the Citadel Diplomatic Group has told RBN that generally speaking the reaction from everyone has been, ah...rather concerned. Of course our RBN Analysis Room is hard at work diving deep into the parts of the Contact Package that have been released so far, but as far as initial impressions go, I can’t help but echo that sentiment.”  
  
“Are there any things in particular which stand out to you, Luciter? Besides the...demon...war?”  
  
“Ah - oh, spirits. Um. Well, the, uh, Exitium claims to have magic, which is why their Contact Package documents didn’t require time for translation? The Exalted Exitium claims that not only is magic real, but also commonplace - they mention everything from battle-mages to sorcerer-engineers with complete seriousness.”  
  
“What.”  
  
“Well, uh...well that’s what the package says, Nuria - I’m sure you can see why the Citadel Diplomatic Group’s members are currently worried about the prospect of proper negotiations between the Exalted Exitium and the Council.”  
  
“I...I can imagine. Before we move on over to the RBN Analysis Room to hear from our own experts, is there anything else you want to say?”  
  
“I - certainly I don’t want to be insensitive Nuria - supposedly everyone in the Exalted Exitium worships a war god called the - here we go - the ‘Doom Slayer,’ who wages a one-man eternal war against Hell itself? And has done so since the beginning of time, never falling because he is, and I quote, ‘so filled with rage and hatred that death itself cannot contain Him?’ Also nearly all of their soldiers carry chainsaw swords? I - ah - that is all.”  
  
“Oooookay. Wow. Well. Uh. Luciter Agamus, everyone…”  
  
  


* * *

  
“...And we’re live! Hello, hello, hello - good evening to all you viewers out there on the Citadel and beyond. Tonight on the Tantalizing Turian Talk Time - hosted by me, Voster Syrcis, the greatest worst talk-show host in history along with my co-hosts Latmul Kaat and Parnira - a round of applause for them! Hoo, boy, folks, have you guys seen the news coming out of the Council tonight? Okay, so - First Contact, right, and you know me, I like to keep an open mind about things, I like to keep things respectable here. I might joke around a little, but, hey, all my long-time viewers know - it’s all in good fun, right? So, uh, I’m gonna do my best here. Exalted Exitium, that’s the name of these new folks on the block - mostly composed of humans - kinda look like asari, right? - and a bunch of other smaller groups. That’s the easy bit. Okay - so check this - these Exitium people, they’re, uh...they’re kinda crazy-”  
  
“-whoa, Vos, you can’t just say that, and I know you’re not joking.”  
  
“With concern: I agree. Neutrally: you must admit that from what we have learned, Latmul, that the Exitium is rather strange.”  
  
“Rather strange? Understatement of the year, Parnira - I mean, look, these guys, they say they’ve been around for fifty thousand years. Sure. I can buy that, at least kinda - but this whole time they’ve been fighting - and folks, I’m not joking, this is literally out of their own media packet - fighting demons, literal demons from the literal Hells. Like, doom and lakes of fire and shit - come on, you can’t really listen to that and think, ‘yup, nothing wrong here?’ Really?”  
  
“Well they’re religious, right? Super religious? Doesn’t mean they’re legitimately fighting Hellspawn or something. Could be metaphorical, you know.”  
  
“I mean sure, Lat, let’s say they are, but even so - their religion, it’s bonkers! Wait, wait, lemme finish - they’ve only got one god they worship, and they call him the Doom Slayer. War god. Big, beefy human in big green armour, and apparently - literally all this guy does it roam around hell and kill demons. Supposedly he returns to the Exitium once in a while, gets some more guns or something, and goes off to kill some more. That’s it! That’s their whole religion - killing things is literally how they worship, man. Word for word outta their books: ‘the battlefield is the simplest church.’ Nuts!”  
  
“With restrained distaste: not even the most violent of galactic society worships a mass-murdering war god. Jokingly: have you ever seen hanar preachers discuss fighting demons?”  
  
“If by demons you mean C-Sec, sure. Voster knows what I mean - more than once we’ve met a few preachers who get a little too friendly with their tentacles, eh?”  
  
“Yup, that’s no joke, folks - don’t go pissing off those nutcases floating around the Presidium Commons - but I mean seriously, look, people, I’ve seen some weird, nasty shit in my life - spent a lot of time with these two kicking around the shittiest parts of the galaxy - but nobody sane has ever come up with anything like this.”  
  
“Seriously - this whole thing, reminds me of back when we were on Omega for a spell - all those wackjob doomsday cults? Remember that?”  
  
“Warily: of course I remember. With poorly hidden disgust: a salrian preacher once threw up on me, claiming that his vomit contained life-prolonging magic.”  
  
“Yeah, but you kicked him, like, thirty feet across a room.”  
  
“With exasperated frustration: I did not mean to kick him that hard, Voster, and the salarian survived with only a broken ribcage. Eagerly segueing: the Exitium also claims to have magic. With minor interest: that sounds vaguely interesting, but also absolutely, ridiculously stupid.”  
  
“I mean I gotta agree - folks, they’ve got like twenty pages on everything from sorcerers and - get this - magic engineers? Who build houses and highways using magic? Can you believe that shit?”  
  
“Hey, come on, Voster, you gotta admit, that’d be real handy. Just, you know - toilet’s fucked? Call your local magic man, waves a wand - bam, magic plumbing service.”  
  
“Suspiciously: I would wager several credits that most magic plumbers are still late to show up for work and also charge too much.”  
  
“Universal standard, aha, right? Hey - not that all you plumbers out there are junk - yo, big shout out out to the folks over at Smooth Runnings, all you guys are the best, man. You need your shitter fixed pronto, they got it - they even got this Vorcha on staff, Gyakk - dude’s a real charmer. Anyways - commercial break but when we get back - more Exitium talk, we do a review on ETechnica’s new chemjuice releases from last week and make sure you stick around for an interview with someone real special - you know her from Undercurrent News - the one and only Kerri T’vessa…”  
  


■

  
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* * *

  
**Topic: I'm rehosting that crazy alien media packet on my own server!  
In: Boards ► Citadel ► General  
VarrenSteak **(Original Poster)  
Posted On Jun 18th 2657:  
So I was actually doing some on-call work when that crazy news about the Exitium or whatever it's called dropped - so I managed to download the entire alien media package from the Avina terminal across the street right when it came out - and way before the servers went to shit. Anyways, last month I shelled out a fuckton of credits for some new servers thinking I'd need them for work, but they've been collecting dust ever since then - so I'm rehosting the contact package. And remember - please try to upload at least one copy's worth of data! Otherwise my server's gonna get bogged down super quick, and then we're all shit out of luck.  
  
EDIT: Man, for real, guys, please stop sending me credits - all I did was host some files. You really wanna help, you can spread my biz around - Kor & Kal, we do onsite repairs for anything omnitool related!  
  
EDIT 2: Okay I lied. Send me those credits. My power bills are gonna be through the damn roof this month.  
  
EDIT 3: Spirits, I just got a call from my landlord and the local C-Sec station. Apparently the power spike from my apartment gave everyone a real scare. I told 'em both I'm popular on the net, but neither of them thought I was serious, I think.  
  
EDIT 4: Okay, here we go, folks - link is here! Me and a few other people, we strung together a nice big database of every non-Citadel hosting service that has a copy of the contact package.

**(Showing page 1 of 43231)**

  
**►NoFishInTheLake**  
Replied On Jun 18th 2657:  
Holy shit, thank you so much. I tried downloading this thing from the CitadelCentral server and it said it'd take four days- they must be getting wrecked. Guess the people in IT didn't get any chance to prep for this? Which makes sense if you read the package - apparently contact was like, less than a week ago. Which makes me wonder how everything is translated into Thesserit, Palav, etc...

EDIT: Apparently it's magic.

I'm not joking, that's literally the explanation. That's some bullshit right there.

**►Props Zero**  
Replied On Jun 18th 2657:  
BTW don't even bother with local terminals... tried the one down the street from me and the lineup had at least like a hundred people there AND the Avina was all messed up, ahahaha. It kept repeating words and restarting sentences, guess the entire network's busted.

**►Wingspan**  
Replied On Jun 18th 2657:  
Okay, so, heads up, folks, just got ahold of the package thanks to @Varrensteak and big warning, this thing is totally not safe for work. Straight up the Exitium's war god is described ripping people apart - humans and "demons" or whatever - and there's some, like, stained glass monuments that are displayed in ultra-fine detail, including one where the war god is tearing the limbs and, uh, genitalia off some humans.

I mean I'll be honest it's kind of cool in a really badass sort of way, but I work at a school. Last thing I need is any of my coworkers wondering why I'm watching some sorta gore-vid when I'm supposed to be marking papers...

**►Fistyfight**  
Replied On Jun 18th 2657:  
Heya Varren - I've already got a copy of the package and I 'm hosting it too, though I doubt my setup is as beefy as yours - maybe pin me up top? There's gotta be a bunch of other people doing that too.

**►AgileVolcano**  
Replied On Jun 18th 2657:  
Thanks for the heads up, @Wingpsan...was about to sit around the table and watch this with my daughters. Guess I'll be skimming this thing for a bit before we make a fun family event out of it.

Kinda worries me, though. What sort of culture worships an avatar of violence? Even the worst Krogan is still part of a culture that has shamans, not some insane...quad-tearing madman.

**►TwoChanka**  
Replied On Jun 18th 2657:  
Hi there @Varrensteak - thank you so much for rehosting this. Even with my extranet connection - which I pay out the cloaca for - the Citadel Services estimated download time was over a week long!

**►Jumpjumpjump**  
Replied On Jun 18th 2657:  
So I get that I've only read the first thirty or so pages of the contact package and I gotta say this is scaring the piss out of me. Nobody's freaking out about this yet? We're talking about a massive population of people here, all of whom are violent as shit and worship their god by killing their enemies? Nobody's getting a movie-villain evil religious empire vibe from them? Because I sure as shit am.

Glad I got a carry permit - I'm telling you shit's gonna go down when these ambassadors show up and it's not gonna be pretty.

**►VolusMostus**  
Replied On Jun 18th 2657:  
Anyone else notice how much stuff seems to be missing here? Coucil's statement said they withheld a ton of info, both for security reasons and because the Exitium requested it...something is off about this for sure. Now that I think about it everything, just about everything in this package doesn't really add up.

**►HornySalarian**  
Replied On Jun 18th 2657:  
Keeping in mind that I've only skimmed through the package:

This shit is awesome.

No, seriously. Chainsaw swords. Magic bombs. Some sort of combat stim (think it's called a "Berserker Soul?" How fucking cool is that?) that lets you punch holes in tanks?

And shotguns. Shotguns as far as the eye can see. Triple-barreled autoshotgun? That's their service shotgun. (THEY HAVE A SERVICE SHOTGUN.) Their equivalent to the SUAF's breaching shotty? SIX BARRELED SAWN-OFF.

Ohhhhhh yeahhhhh. I don't care what anyone else says: this is gonna be great.

**End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 43229, 43230, 43231**

* * *

  
**Topic: [PINNED] New Exitium Sub-Forum  
In: Boards ► Citadel ► General ► Exitium  
Blue Soup **(Original Poster) (Moderator)  
Posted On Jun 18th 2657:  
To help deal with the flood of new Exitium-related posts, this sub-forum has been created. Please keep all reactions, comments and other posts which are strictly Exitium-related here. You should have been redirected here upon login - so unless that's not working (and the mods will know if it's not working - nice try, folks,) consider this your one and only warning. Thanks.  
  
  


* * *

  
**Topic: A Quick Look At The Exitium's Religion (THREAD I)  
In: Boards ► Citadel ► General ► Exitium  
Monoglass **(Original Poster)  
Posted On Jun 18th 2657:  
Hello everyone, Monoglass here again. For those of you who haven't heard of me, I'm a Religious History PHD student at Thessia UThessia's Citadel Campus; I like to pride myself on work that's evidence-based and as unbiased as possible. I mention all of that up-front, because I'm already seeing a lot of fearmongering and xenophobia aimed at the Exitium - and while I'm certainly a little concerned about how militant their entire culture appears to be, I think their religion isn't getting a fair shake.  
  
Keeping in mind that:  
  
\- We're not getting the full picture, not by a long shot; portions of the Contact Package - what the Exalted Exitium calls the "Volumes of Unity" is actually at least several times larger than the Contact Package we have access to right now, and other sections have clearly been omitted for some reason or another,  
  
\- I can only base my conclusions - right now - off the information shown,  
  
\- That ultimately I'd need to venture to the Exitium, compare sources and investigate the veracity of any claims made, religious or otherwise,  
  
here's my initial summary and thoughts on the Exalted Exitium's religion.  
  
What stuck out to me most upfront was that, as far as I can tell, the Exalted Exitium's primary religion doesn't seem to have a name. It seems like it's just assumed that every citizen in the EE takes part in the religion - and this is even baked into the rites and practices of the religion itself. Before we get into that, though, the basics.  
  
The Doom Slayer Religion (which I'll just be shortening to the DSR for brevity) centres itself around the eponymous Doom Slayer - a human, or something that looks like a human, in green combat armour. According to religious texts, and the Exitium's own historical record - which, it must be noted, itself seems to function as a religious text in and of itself, especially regarding the somewhat scattered and vague early history of the Exitium - the Doom Slayer has existed for over fifty thousand years, and predates the formation of the Exitium itself. He is a war god, first and foremost, concerned chiefly with waging an eternal war on the forces of Hell (more on this later!). His greatest command exhorts the Exitium's citizens to "Rip and tear, until it is done," and apparently spends most of his time in Hell itself fighting demons and the like.  
  
Now - again, keeping in mind that we have no way to verify this - the Exitium believes, truly, that the Doom Slayer is real. Not to denigrate the practioners of any other religion, but, say, I imagine most Athame-worshippers don't think that Athame might just one day pop down to Thessia for a stroll without any real reason; most modern mainstream religions in Citadel space are concerned chiefly with faith - the physical, observable, obvious presence of a god or gods isn't expected.  
  
Not the Exitium. Assuming that their included videos are real - the Doom Slayer exists, and he returns to the Exitium itself on rare ocassions, primarily to rearm himself with the latest weapons the Exitium has to offer, to restock on supplies and to enjoy - as tradition dicatates - a meal of some sort. He also is said to check in on the Exitium's governance; multiple chapters in the Volumes of Unity note that the Doom Slayer, uh...frowns upon religious persecution and despotic rule in general, and if records are to be believed has actually killed prominent leaders of the Exitium on multiple occasions for failing to meet his standards.  
  
This means that the DSR is, on a fundamental level, far different from most faith-based religions we see in the Citadel - in fact, I'd wager it's almost closer to a cult of worship - the kind you see street preachers and criminal cults ranting about - except, well, it works, and everyone believes in it on a societal level. The Doom Slayer, assuming he's not an actor played by someone to fulfil a religious rite, is real. He exists. There's no need for faith - there are recordings of him descending out of the sky to grab a bite to eat, reload his guns and check in on things before he heads back on his endless one-man-war. In practical terms, the Exitium doesn't even demand that the populace worship the Doom Slayer - one of the quotes in the Contact Package notes that the Doom Slayer himself (supposedly) says "...do not worship me with temples and prayer. Appease me with action; shield the helpless, strengthen the weak, respect the outsider and above all else, slaughter only the heretic and the demon." For reference - the 'heretic' here refers not to nonbelievers in the DSR, but rather to those who would consort with "Hell." The Volumes of Unity note that, according to the last year's census, while just about everyone in the Exitium follows the DSR, there is a sizeable population - somewhere between 10%-15% total - that either does not believe that the Doom Slayer is in any way divine, or practices another faith alongside or instead of the DSR.  
  
Speaking unprofesionally for a moment: that's weird. That's weird as shit. Nothing like that exists in all of Citadel Space, as far as I know. Here we've got a super-violent religion whose violence is targeted at a single enemy, a nearly universally-practiced religion that allows for other faiths to exist and flourish alongside it, and most crazy of all - a faith with a physical god that makes regular check-ins just to see how folks are doing. That's bonkers - not in a bad way, mind you, but like I said - nothing in Citadel Space even remotely comes close to how bizarre the DSR is.  
  
Anyways - that's all I've got for now. Next time, I'll dig deeper into the so-called "infinite enemy" of the Exitium - "Hell," which as I've alluded to before, isn't some tenuous concept of the afterlife, but supposedly is an actual underworld which the Exitium's been fighting for over fifty thousand years.  
  
(This is so, so, weird. I think I've found a new thesis topic, folks...)  
  


**(Showing page 1 of 32346)**

  
**►Memetic_Barrier**  
Replied On Jun 18th 2657:  
Wow, Monoglass - thanks for the writeup. As usual your work's appreciated.

I'm still not entirely sold on how peaceful this religion is, though. All of the statements you make about the DSR's inclusivity and the like is predicated on the assumption that this "Hell" they're fighting a) exists, b) is actually a justified enemy and c) isn't just a tool to direct the populace to war. As much as the idea of a violent, martial religion that actually is pretty chill about things grabs my interest, it just doesn't make any sense, really. Doesn't add up - so there's an existential threat to the Exitium that's been locked in a stalemate for fifty thousand years? Assuming that's true - and you have to admit that sounds completely insane - the DSR makes a lot more sense to me as a societal tool of control, rather than an organically-grown form or worship.

**►The Hunter**  
Replied On Jun 18th 2657:  
I must agree with Memetic_Barrier. As much as I wish to find in the Exitium a religious society that venerates a guided martial worship, at this point - without further evidence - I cannot help but assume the worst. The Drell who maintain the old ways have Amonkira and Yaauti and Otastek; all three are Gods of conflict, yes, but none explicitly command their worshippers to commit acts of - quoted from the Contact Package - "heinous violence, horrid cruelty and unthinkable atrocity" upon their enemies. I fear that, sooner rather than later, we shall be neighbours with a society of zealous crusaders who will pressure us into their mad, endless war.

**►TuppossaFiend**  
Replied On Jun 18th 2657:  
Thanks for the work as usual, Mono. I'm kind of in the middle here - there's just not enough evidence to work through, and even though I'm hesitant to jump to the same conclusions as MB and The Hunter it's really hard not to freak out about this a little. Still - I think once more info's made available to us, and especially once we get a firsthand look at actual people from the Exitium, it'll be easier to actually come to a proper conclusion about things.

**►Monoglass** (Original Poster)  
Replied On Jun 18th 2657:  
To be fair, these are only my assumptions based on a) wanting to be as unbiased as possible and b) working with what I have access to at the moment. I'm still reading through the Contact Package, especially the DSR-focused chapters, but personally I'm doing my best to not just jump to the worst possible conclusions. I get the distinct feeling that whether or not their War on Hell is, well, real, there's some real trauma or violence in the Exitium's history; I was really worried at first too, but there's just so much in here that talks about how their various Churches focus on the whole "defend the helpless and uphold the weak" bit that it's hard for me to reconcile exactly what's going on here.

**►Doublequad**  
Replied On Jun 18th 2657:  
You can't just assume the best, man. Doesn't make sense to. Not advocating that we treat the ambassadors like shit or anything, but when a religion's god is literally demanding that his worshippers go and fuck shit up with as much pain and terror as possible it's kinda hard to, you know, think of those people as being all sunshine and picnics. Gotta agree with MB, too, like...okay so they have whole Churches whose goal is to improve quality of life, raise orphans, educate everyone, right? But doesn't that just feed their fuck-crazy war? Everyone can read - everyone can communicate better and operate weaponry. Everyone is happy - morale is high, nobody wants to stop fighting. Orphans are raised by the state - easy access to fresh recruits for their army. So on, so on. Right? You can't tell me that I'm wrong on that...

**►Tuchanka Tough**  
Replied On Jun 18th 2657:  
How much are we reading into this stuff, though? It's not as though you pick up a book on Siarist religious doctrine and just assume everything in there is literally real, right? Of course some people believe literally - that's probably true for just about every faith out there - but, well, isn't it possible that all of this stuff is metaphorical? Meant to be taken as a spiritual guide? Sure, it's still a spiritual guide telling you to kick the shit out of demons or whatever, but, hey, as a krogan, I can totally see where they're coming from, at least kind of...you know, that sorta self-help crap, conquer the day! Sieze victory!...or something.

**►Jumpjumpjump**  
Replied On Jun 18th 2657:  
They have entire Churches devoted to killing demons because they're so angry about it.

Think about that for a moment. A spiritual guide telling you to commit genocide in the name of a war god? Not a whole lot of ways you can swing that, and none of them or nice.

**►Monoglass** (Original Poster)  
Replied On Jun 18th 2657:  
I still think that it's too early to jump to conclusions like that, to be perfectly frank. I'm worried - that's true - but again, we're working with limited information and basically no historical context as to how this society was formed and what's it's been through collectively.

**►Ratcaller**  
Replied On Jun 18th 2657:  
This is so fucking stupid. You guys can read this shit and not laugh, how dumb are you?

**[User has been temporarily banned for this post: 3 hours / +1 Infraction. MOD NOTE: Really? Come on. You can do better than this.]**

**End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 32344, 32345, 32346**


	9. Chapter 9

“...alright, thank you very much, Luciter - I’m going to have to cut you off there, we’ve just got confirmation that the Exalted Exitium’s ambassadors have arrived.”  
  
“No problem, Nuria.”  
  
“Alright, now then - reporting live from Priority Docking Bay A4, Relay Beacon News’ own Gustan Pex. Gustan?”  
  
“Thank you, Nuria - if you’re just tuning in now, a quick update for you: we’ve confirmed that the ship carrying the Exalted Exitium chosen ambassadors landed just minutes ago, which means we’ll be getting our very first real look at the humans and “Redeemed” demons which call the Exitium home.”  
  
“What’s the atmosphere like down there, Gustan? I can see the crowds are enormous.”  
  
“I think it’s a mix of concern and excitement - this is the first real Contact scenario Citadel Space has experienced in a very long time, Nuria, and, uh, it’s, uh...well certainly the Exitium isn’t quite like anything we’ve seen before - I think the atmosphere here reflects that. It’s a little tense, yes, but who’s not a little nervous about this - we all want this to go well.”  
  
“Of course, Gustan, nobody wants any sort of conflict at the moment - I can see that the Council agrees. It looks like there’s a very large C-Sec presence down there?”  
  
“That’s correct. In fact, ah, it looks like we’ve got a few more key C-Sec personnel joining those already manning the barricade outside - yes - yes - I’m getting confirmation, it appears that the turian on the left there is actually a Spectre - yes, that’s Saren Arterius, probably most well-known for single-handedly defusing the the Astin Embassy Crisis three years ago.”  
  
“I’m sure the ambassadors will be happy to have such a capable man providing security for them.”  
  
“Absolutely, Nuria, I agree - ah, incredible, it looks like the Exitium’s, ah, ‘Honour Guard’ are making their entrance - absolutely incredible, it looks like the reports were true, they really do look very similar to ancient turian knights - and yes they are indeed carrying, uh, chainsaw swords. It looks like their leader is going to make some sort of announcement-”  
  
“-HONOUR GUARD, THE FIRST PRAYER, BLESSED BE HIS NAME!”  
  
“YES, LORD PROTECTOR, WE HEAR AND OBEY! THE FIRST PRAYER, BLESSED BE HIS NAME!”  
  
“YOURS IS THE NAME THAT GUARDS US FROM SIN! YOURS IS THE BLADE THAT SLAYS THE DEMON! YOURS IS THE SALVE WHICH SEALS OUR WOUNDS! YOURS IS THE VISAGE WHICH GRANTS US STRENGTH! YOU ARE THE HELL-WALKER! YOU ARE THE FIRST SENTINEL! YOU ARE THE UNCHAINED PREDATOR! YOU ARE THE DOOM SLAYER! WHEN FACED WITH HELL WE BESEECH THEE: GIVE US YOUR RAGE SO WE MAY RIP AND TEAR! GIVE US YOUR HATE SO WE MAY DO SO UNTIL THE END OF DAYS! SO IT IS! SO IT SHALL BE! UNTIL IT IS DONE! AMEN!”  
  
“PRESENTING! IN THE NAME OF THE DOOM SLAYER, BLESSED BE HIS NAME! HER EXALTED LADYSHIP, LADY AMBASSADOR ANITA GOYLE! HIS REDEEMED LORDSHIP, FAEMOCH EGI XAKHAL! HIS HIGH LORDSHIP, THE STROGG MAKRON OF TONGUES! HONOUR GUARD: KNEEL!"  
  
"WE HEAR AND OBEY! BLESSED IS THE DOOM SLAYER! AMEN!"  
  
“There it is, Nuria, our very first look at the Exalted Exitium’s ambassadors, complete with their First Prayer - that’s the human Lady Ambassador, Anita Goyle, alongside representatives of the Makron and Redeemed - I’m sorry, that is the Makron of Tongues, representing the Strogg, and, ahem, ah, Faenmoch egi Xakhal, representing the Redeemed, I believe. The crowd’s mood is electric - Faenmoch in particular, I think that’s incredible - if the Contact Package is to be believed, he’s not using a floatation device, he’s just...flying? Floating? And it looks like the ambassadors are already making their way to the C-Sec convoy - yes, that’s the case. They’re off to negotiate with the Council at this very moment.”  
  
“Thank you very much, Gustan.”  
  
“Of course, Nuria.”  
  
“Gustan Pex, our new Contact Correspondent. We’ll now go to RBN’s Panel Room where we have a diverse range of experts ready to discuss and speculate on the possible topics of negotiation and discussion at the Contact meeting…”  
  
  


* * *

  
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* * *

  
**Topic: Ambassadors from Exalted Exitium Have Landed!  
In: Boards ► Citadel ► General  
Big Dull Talon **(Original Poster)  
Posted On Jun 20th 2657:  
For those of you who've been hiding under a rock for the past, like, I dunno, few days, the Exalted Exitium's ambassadors are meeting up with the Council today to discuss whatever it is politicians talk about when meeting another species for a first time. Their ship landed a few minutes ago (did anyone manage to get footage of it? It's being kept behind closed doors) and the ambassadors are due to make some sort of grand entrance soon! It's probably too late to get a close up spot - I got here like three hours ago and even then getting through the C-Sec checkpoint took ages. And anyways I don't think the ambassadors are going to bere here for long before they leave to meet the Council. Still I bet basically every broadcaster and newfeed is gonna be covering this so...yeah.

**(Showing page 1 of 4622341)**

**►Long Drop**

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

Fuck just got off work, no way I'm gonna be able to grab a spot there, I guess. My entire feed's blowing up with livestream notifications but I honestly wanted to go see the big entrance yknow?

**►SeaNut**

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

Don't think you're gonna miss much, Long Drop, I'm here now at the back and I can barely see anything. There's cameras and stuff but staying home probably'll get you better shots of the whole thing.

**►Memetic_Barrier**

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

DOORS ARE OPENING

SPIRITS THEY'RE ACTUALLY KNIGHTS AHAHAHAH

**►Jumpjumpjump**

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

Aaaaand their First Prayer. Creeped me right the fuck out reading it and hearing it isn't much better.

**►AkimboBBQ**

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

Void, what's with the Makron guy? I'm watching from a bunch of livestreams and it looks like he's got something under his cloak? And there's like...wires and shit coming out of his face? Also how's that demon Fenmok or whatever floating? His wings aren't moving or anything, he's just sorta hovering, but I thought they don't have ME tech?

**►Monoglass**

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

The info cleared for release so far indicates that the Strogg people - for whom the Makron(s?) are leaders of some sort - have historically been open to openly displaying obvious cybernetic enhancements, and AI factor pretty heavily into their societal makeup. Hopefully we'll learn more soon. As for Faenmoch, I believe it's just...magic, that keeps him suspended.

**►SeaNut**

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

Well that didn't last long, they already left! I barely got to see anything!

**►The Hunter**

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

As much as I find the aesthetic and religion of the Exalted Exitium offputting, I cannot help but find my interest piqued at the sight of their ambassadors - what a strange collection of individuals. None fit my instinctual image of a diplomat or politician - but perhaps that is to be supposed, from such a warlike society?

**►AgileVolcano**

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

Gotta say I'm kind of pissed that they even let people line up to watch this thing when it barely lasted like...two minutes, if that. Still I can't help but wish we could get a peek behind that big door - I wanna see that ship real bad, plus, you know, talk to the actual rank-and-file crew who came here. Wonder if they're all as crazy as their religion makes them out to be.

**End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 46226, 46227, 46228**

* * *

  
“Breaking news - RBN has received multiple reports from both our own sources and eyewitnesses on-scene that the Exitium’s healers, who were given the chance to apply their so-called ‘magic’ healing techniques on a select group of patients as part of a clinical trial, have managed to miraculously cure - at minimum - roughly two dozen people who were afflicted with what were thought to be terminal diseases. For more, we go to Contact Correspondent Gustan Pex, who’s live on-scene outside Chalua Hospital. Gustan?”  
  
“Thanks again, Nuria. As you can see here there’s still a sizeable C-Sec presence outside the hospital here, and we’ve been told by hospital staff that access to the wing where the healings are being done - as well as the aftercare area - will remain restricted until further notice. I can confirm, however, from a trusted source that several persons who were known to have terminal illnesses, including but not limited to Kepral's Syndrome, Lorrosian Blight and Iresta’s Disease, have all been seen to be seemingly cured of their afflictions. Of course it’s too early to tell if these patients have actually been returned to full health, as our source notes even the ability to suppress or partially treat these terrible afflictions would represent an incredible breakthrough in the Citadel’s medical capabilities.”  
  
“That’s - that’s certainly true, Gustan, and really quite incredible, if our source is correct. Has there been any word from the authorities - either from the hospital’s administration, the Council or the Exitium itself?”  
  
“I’m afraid not, Nuria. Eyewitness testimony noted that the Exitium’s ambassadors were seen heading straight to Chalua Hospital directly after their initial meeting with the Council several hours ago; while nobody’s been able to concretely place their current location due to the heavy C-Sec presence and general media blackout regarding the hospital itself, it’s probably a safe assumption that the Exitium’s ambassadors met with a healer - or carried out the healing themselves. Until a press release, however, it’ll be hard to confirm with any sort of certainty-”  
  
“-sorry to cut you off, but we’ve just received news that that a joint press release from both the Citadel Council and Exalted Exitium’s ambassadors will be live in a few moments; we’ll be broadcasting it in just a minute - thank you, Gustan.”  
  
“A pleasure as always, Nuria…”  
  


* * *

**Official Citadel Council Press Release  
Jointly Produced with the Exalted Exitium  
 _[Cleared for public release: June 20th, 2657 Galactic Standard / 21st of the Third Umbral Wind, Year 1157 of the Twenty-Sixth Age]_**

  
  
  
The Citadel Council and the ambassadors representing the Exalted Exitium are pleased to announce that its initial round of discussions - and, by proxy, First Contact between our two societies - has concluded peacefully and without incident. Several important topics were discussed during this first meeting; notably, accords were reached regarding matters of immigration, trade, travel restrictions and religious matters. Further information regarding these accords, including concrete details of policies and regulations which will apply to the matters in question, will be released in the coming days as we continue to work closely with one another to ensure that all parties are satisfied with the outcomes reached.  
  
In the interim, the Exalted Exitium has agreed to a further declassification of its Volumes of Unity; an updated copy of the initial Contact Package which was released to the public earlier in the week has been uploaded to the Citadel Governance website at this time. It contains information regarding the Exalted Exitium’s society, culture, technology, history and, critically, their magic. The Citadel Council strongly recommends that all Citadel denizens read the new Volumes of Unity, even if only briefly, in order to facilitate stronger and more prosperous relations between the Citadel and the Exalted Exitium.  
  
We would also like to address the rumours surrounding the so-called ‘mass healings’ which have been reported in the news. Shortly after the initial Contact meeting, several patients - whose identities will remain undisclosed to ensure their privacy - consented to undergo an experimental healing process carried out by one of the Exalted Exitium’s finest healers. These patients - all of whom were terminally ill - did so of their own volition and without any sort of pressure from any person or authority. We are happy to announce that, thanks to the advanced medical techniques of the Exalted Exitium, all of the patients, who themselves suffered from a variety of illnesses and hailed from a wide-range of backgrounds, have indeed been entirely cured. Moving forward, the Exalted Exitium’s Church of the Saviour is pleased to announce that it will be working in tandem with the Citadel Lower Council’s Department of Health and Public Safety to carry out further medical operations via a triage process, beginning with the terminally-ill and injured, followed by others as needs arise and supplies allow for. The Exalted Exitium’s Church of the Saviour stresses that any and all procedures it carries out are entirely voluntary, and notes that only those who wish to be healed via their “magitechnology” will receive treatment.  
  
In a similar vein, the Exalted Exitium will be holding public demonstrations of their magic, starting tomorrow at 9AM Citadel Standard Time in Priority Docking Bay A4. The demonstration will include showings of spatial compression, healing, instant construction, and other various non-destructive displays of sorcery, thaumaturgy and hermetics. All members of the public are invited to attend; regular, guided tours of the displays and demonstrations will occur every hour until the Exalted Exitium’s ambassadors leave the Citadel. We would like to remind all persons that while the Exalted Exitium does not formally hold status as a Citadel member, as honoured guests of the Citadel and the Council all members of the Exalted Exitium remain under the protections afforded to them under the full extent of the law; any persons who violate the Exalted Exitium’s rules in the demonstration area or otherwise harass, injure or interfere with the Exalted Exitium’s personnel and property will answer to the Exalted Exitium’s authorities, as well as Citadel Security.  
  
  


_In these times of great change, we look forward to developing a bond of friendship and cooperation between the Citadel and the Exalted Exitium. May peace be lasting and eternal between our peoples._

WRITTEN AND AUTHORIZED BY:

HERANE TEVOS, COUNCILOR, ASARI REPUBLICS  
SARAL VALERN, COUNCILOR, SALARIAN UNION  
FALLOX SPARATUS, COUNCILOR, TURIAN HIERARCHY

_Blessed is the Doom Slayer, for in his guiding fists do we find purpose, strength - and comrades, even across the vast reaches of the planes of all reality. Let His name and His words guide us as we march ever-onwards to the anointed day, when, hand-in-hand with one another, we step into the gore-soaked light of the Final Peace. Amen._  
WRITTEN AND AUTHORIZED BY:

HER EXALTED LADYSHIP, LADY AMBASSADOR ANITA GOYLE, REPRESENTING THE CHURCH OF THE SLAYER AND THE ORDER OF THE LONG KNIFE  
HIS REDEEMED LORDSHIP, FAENMOCH EXI XAKHAL, REPRESENTING THE CHURCH OF THE SAVIOUR AND THE ORDER OF THE REDEEMED  
HIS HIGH LORDSHIP, THE MAKRON OF TONGUES, REPRESENTING THE CHURCH OF THE LECTOR AND THE ORDER OF THE IRON MINDS

* * *

  
  
**Topic: Exitium Healer(s) magically cure terminal diseases, fatal injuries  
In: Boards ► Citadel ► General  
Throwthrowthrowaway **(Original Poster)  
Posted On Jun 20th 2657:  
Throwaway account, already PM'd mods to verify info. Worker in Chalua Hospital.  
  
The press release from the Council / EE ambassadors is 100% true. Not gonna leak anything about the patients - they deserve their privacy! - but I can confirm that as of me writing this the Exitium's healer(s) somehow managed to cure approx. 35 patients, each of them either terminally ill or damn close to it. The EE's ambassadors arrived onsite before the healer(s) did - they met up shortly after, made their way up to the palliative care ward. Wasn't able to actually see the healing take place but I have seen proof of the following:  
  
\- Patient #1, Drell, Kepral's, palliative care - man was going to die in the next month or so, maybe before then, due to organ degeneration and the like. Last I saw him before all this he was bedridden and barely able to talk. Saw him up and about, running around and doing fucking martial arts moves in the hallways and talking about how he's gonna go spend some "quality time" with his wife to anyone he thinks won't be grossed out by it.  
  
\- Patient #2, Turian, Lorossian Blight, long-term care - some kid who's been in and out of the hospital since birth. Kid could move last I checked but his scans were really bad - saw him with a bunch of other kids in a play area pretending to be a krogan and throwing pillows around. Haven't seen scans in person but people I've talked to say that he's perfectly healthy, maybe even better than average when it comes to general health. Full skeletal and bone density recovery.  
  
\- Patient #3, Krogan, fatal head injury, palliative care - old guy who got shot in the head. Helmet took most of the hit but dented his skull badly enough to crush a good chunk of his brain - well there sure as shit isn't a dent there anymore and the guy's super pissed about being forced to stay in the hospital for now. Heard rumours that the guy was actually slated to have a bunch of surgeries prior to the latest wound, but he's not on the list anymore as far as I can tell.  
  
\- Patient #4, Elcor, some sort of industrial accident (I think), Emergency - poor bastard looked like he'd been shoved through a fucking meat grinder last I saw, was missing three legs and even with all the medical foams and emergency sealant you could pretty much see into his guts when they hauled him in. Not anymore. Guy's up and about, mentioned that a limp he's had since he was a kid isn't there anymore. No way to tell about the second bit but 100% he's got all his limbs back.  
  
Seen a bunch more but can't find a way to talk about it without disclosing info about myself or patients.  
  
Still not sure re: how many healers are in the hospital ATM. Managed to get a quick snap of one healer - could only get what looked like the head in the shot though. There's also a bunch of flaming skull things (???) in the hospital, but I don't know if those are healers or assistants or something - last I checked they were scoping out the Infectious Diseases / Quarantine Ward.  
  


**(Showing page 1 of 58345)**

**►Red Sandwich** (Moderator)

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

I can confirm that the source's background as a worker in Chalua Hospital is legitimate. As per the Citadel Lower Council's Freedom of Information and Whistleblower Protection Acts, we've allowed this post to remain up; any attempts to document or identify the worker in question without C-Sec backing will be treated as a crime and offenders will be reported to any relevant authorities. Thank you for your co-operation.

Speaking as a poster and not a moderator - this is absolutely incredible. I still don't know how to feel about the Exalted Exitium as a whole - I think it's reasonably fair to say that we know as little about them as they know about us - but taking this on its own this is something anybody with even a shred of empathy can get behind. I know I've lost more than a few friends and families to injuries or diseases that were thought to be uncurable - and now it looks like pretty much everything you can throw at the Exitium, they can heal with magic? That, at the very least, has got to be a net positive.

**►VolusMostus**

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

This is fantastic news!

Still, I have to wonder what this means for pretty much every section of the pharmaceutical / medical industry, though. Sure, I imagine learning to do this sort of healing doesn't just happen overnight, but even if it did take five, ten years to learn, that'd still be a decade or less before a not-at-all insignificant sector of the galactic economy basically becomes totally obsolete. Some of the bigger consortiums will be fine - I know Armali and Vaios are both way too big to really worry about losing their pharma / medical divisions, Zadela & Vulin can shift their investments elsewhere and so on...but the big, focused players in the market, especially Alsot Medical? They're totally screwed.

Of course - and this is just wild guessing on my part - there might very well still be opportunities to be had in selling medical / pharmaceutical stuff to the Exitium - and who knows, maybe there'll be a whole new "magic" economy to build from scratch soon? Either way, the future's exciting and not just because diseases might be a thing of the past soon.

**►TuppossaFiend**

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

Seriously? You manage to turn news about how we've managed to find a cure for a whole bunch of previously-untreatable illnesses into a financial investment report? Come on, man, time and place for everything.

Anyways - I'm really not sure about that picture of the healer you've got their, Throwaway. Like...you say that you only managed to capture the head of the demon (?) in the shot but that's a huge spirits-damned head if I've ever seen one. I'm still not up to date on all the different species in the Exitium so maybe I'm just missing something obvious here. As for the flaming skulls, I've got nothing. Is it an aesthetic thing? Are they just, like...drones? But on fire? I'm so confused.

**►Wingspan**

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

Wait wait wait, hold on a second, so you're saying that these magic cures don't even differentiate between...injuries and diseases? They can just cure...anything? And I'm supposed to believe that there's literally no downside to any of this?

I get it, it's supposed to be "magic," but I have a hard time believing these cures don't have some sort of hidden cost. What if the patients are cured of their diseases, but have been mentally changed somehow? Not that I'm accusing the healers of purposely doing anything wrong, mind you, but it's not like you can just apply the same medical practices you'd use on, say, a krogan, to an asari without taking into account a whole bunch of differences.

**►TwoChanka**

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

To be fair, this is, you know... magic. There's no reason why it has to abide by any rules other than its own, right?

I can't help but wonder how things would be different if the Exitium had shown up earlier in our history. Can you imagine how many lives might have been saved? What would our history look like if diseases and illnesses just weren't a thing? Maybe it's a bit naive of me, but I like to think it would've been for the better. I've come to terms with the people I've lost in my life not being around anymore but that doesn't mean I wouldn't wish to still have them with me, y'know?

**►Fistyfight**

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

Wouldn't be all that surprised if this "magic" turns out to be some sort of fancy nanotech or something. Either way this is incredible news. Now we just have to get our hands on it - I hope the Exitium's willing to share...

**►Ratcaller**

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

Come on, seriously, you can't all be thinking this is a good thing? Think about it. Either this is some BS hoax so that we all think that the Exitium's peaceful and friendly - guess what, they're not, according to their own religion and stuff - or it's real and the giant empire of nutcase crusaders has magic that lets them basically be immortal. Isn't that great?

**►Throwthrowthrowaway** (Original Poster)

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

@VolusMostus - I don't know. Couldn't see too much but it looked like the healers still do need supplies to do their work - a bunch of C-Sec and Exitium bodyguards actually did a run back to their convoy and picked up a bunch of bags after an hour or two. Not sure what was in there but I don't think they can just heal people with a wave of their hands.

@TuppossaFiend - tried to get better shots of the who I think is the main healer, couldn't manage it. One of my co-workers says there are some species of floating head things (???) in the Exitium so maybe it *is* just the head and there's nothing else. No clue how that works.

@Wingspan Well they started with the patients in the palliative ward since - as bad as it sounds - they didn't really have much less to lose. Everyone who's been healed is still under observation and probably won't be let out for a while, even if the Exitium says there's no side-effects or anything.

@Fistyfight - Magic or not, if it works it works. Have heard some rumours floating around from staff that've talked to Exitium personnel - apparently learning to do healing magic specifically isn't all that hard?

**►SeaNut**

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

Any word on when we get to see the patients in question? I appreciate you doing all the work and putting your job on the line and all but I still think it's too early to say anything concrete when we can't even have the patients available for public interviews, etc.

**End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 58343, 58344, 58345**

* * *

  
**Topic: Examining the Exitium's History, Part I  
In: Boards ► Citadel ► General ► Exitium  
Monoglass **(Original Poster)  
Posted On Jun 20th 2657:  
Hello everyone, Monoglass here again. I'm still working on the second part of my Doom Slayer Religion analysis, but I'm still working through the enormous amount of material related to the DSR that just got released - it'll probably take me a few days to get through it properly. I'm also hoping to speak to some actual people from the Exitium at some point tomorrow once they open up their hangar for their magic demonstrations and the like.  
  
In the mean time, I'd just like to share some preliminary thoughts on the Exalted Exitium's contact info - in particular, today I'll cover _An Abridged Introductory History of the Exalted Exitium_ , the introduction to which I've attached below.

> **Intro to _An Abridged Introductory History of the EE_**
> 
> The history of the Exalted Exitium is a long and storied one; as such, our recordkeeping must account for periods of time which, to those who call Citadel Space home, must seem positively ancient. Let us familiarize ourselves with two common terms, then. First is the Era; an Era is used not to measure any specific amount of time, but can be used to group smaller periods of time together in order to better categorize and order a timeline of the Exalted Exitium. Next is the Age - a period of two thousand years, and generally named after its passing by the Church of the Lector for the general events and atmosphere of the time.  
>   
> Though the formation of the Exalted Exitium itself would not occur until the Second Era, the many scholars and historians of the Exitium begin all timelines with The Great Ignorance, itself placed at the times before and up to roughly 50,000 years Before Council Era. The Doom Slayer Himself is our only true source of knowledge of this time; this was when a planet called “Earth,” whose location and histories have long since been lost to the ravages of war and time, was the home of a humanity which knew nothing of Heaven, Hell, or the war between the two.  
>   
> True knowledge of our past only begins in the First Era: the Era of Survival, lasting from between roughly 50,000 BCE and 43,000 BCE. These dates are merely estimations, based on the Doom Slayer’s testimony, blessed be His name, and the miniscule scraps of information left from this time period; still, we can say with some certainty that the war between Heaven and Hell culminated in some sort of great victory for Hell, and that humanity somehow caught the attention of Hell’s rulers. Thence came the Great Scattering - humanity fled its homeworld using precursors to our modern Aether Rending Drive engines, settled down across the galaxy once they’d believed they’d either outrun Hell’s forces, or were forced to do so. So too is this the time when humanity is first known to have concretely met with the Doom Slayer, blessed is His name; experts believe that many of the stories within the holy texts of the Exitium which reference His guiding of pre-Exitium humans come from this time. The Doom Slayer Himself rescued the Wretch, whose Hands most Holy did craft the Doom Slayer’s own armour, at this time, and so too did humanity begin to truly understand and wield sorcery, hermetics and theurgy.  
>   
> So it was that the Second Era - the Era of Resistance began, lasting from 43000 BCE to 37000 BCE. With magic and technology in hand, the Exalted Exitium was formally founded in name and spirit; it was at this time that the Strogg peoples were integrated into the Exalted Exitium. Thanks to the combined power of magitechnology, the proliferation of true Artificial Intelligences, and the genius of the Wretch, for the first time in our history we did not merely survive Hell’s attacks, but brought war to their unholy host. Even so, Hell would not back down from this new challenge, and so it was that for the first time, Hell carved a bloody swathe through its foe, and pushed the Exitium’s forces all the way back to Gaia. It was only the intercession - and sacrifice - by the Wretch, blessed were his Hands most Holy, which saved the young Exitium from eternal torment, by use of a theurgic bomb which slew all demons - Redeemed or not - within Gaia’s vicinity.  
>   
> Thus began the Era of Sin. May our folly be your chance to learn, for the time from 37000 BCE to 29000 BCE is without question the darkest and foulest stain on the Exalted Exitium. Fearful from this first loss of life, territory and knowledge, the Exitium descended into zealous madness; guided by those who claimed that we had failed in our worship of the Doom Slayer, we turned upon ourselves with sword, torch and whip. Let no words be hidden, no deed be obscured: the Exitium of this time, led by those who would call themselves the Flagellants, proclaimed that those who would not adhere to their extreme and severe interpretation of religious law could only be heretics. A vote to kill every Redeemed demon within the Exitium was avoided only by a margin of three votes; His word was spread with cruel fire and wicked blades. Countless people - and even entire worlds - were put to the torch merely for “lacking piety;” many more were enslaved, tortured, and made to suffer treatment that Hell itself would be proud of, all in the name of the Doom Slayer.  
>   
> Yet the Doom Slayer, blessed is His name, has always been the protector of man and the Exitium! His return during the Era of Sin is not forgotten, and never shall we forget! On the Fourth Sun of the First Umbral Moon, in the Seven-Hundred-And-Fiftieth Year of the Eighth Age, He returned to us, and found us wanting; He saw our madness and our sin, and judged us harshly! Thus did He speak to us of mercy, compassion and kindness; thus did He command us to raise our fellows above us, to find virtue in protecting the helpless, to spread knowledge in place of pain. So too did He warn us: that He punished wickedness in all forms, Hellish or not - and that upon his next return, we would face his judgement once more. So it was that His guiding fist returned us to the light - for return He did, and we were not found wanting.  
>   
> Thus begins the Modern Era - which did begin in 29000 BCE, and continues to the present day. We march ever onwards towards the Final Peace; every Age brings new magitechnology, new methods of war, new warriors for the War Eternal and new people who labour without end to ensure that one day our descendant shall wake to find only the sun and the stars waiting for them. May His guiding light lead us to that time, when His fists may be unclenched, and His hate become mere vigilance, for blessed is His name. Amen.

There's a more detailed timeline later in the Volumes of Unity that goes into more detail about each age, but for now I'm just going to address the surface-level stuff that's been presented to us (keeping in mind my previous caveats regarding the limited sources, lack of Citadel POV and verification, etc.)  
  
My initial reactions previously were astonishment at just how old the Exalted Exitium is (or at least claims to be), and frankly I'm almost inclined to believe it just based on how casually the authors of the Volumes of Unity reference incredible spans of time. The founding race of the Exalted Exitium - humans - had clearly managed spaceflight and some form of limited FTL travel before The Great Scattering - no small amount of history - and yet the Exalted Exitium is so old that they basically have little to no recollection of that time period. As a thought experiment, let's just copy and paste, say, Turian history as an example; most historians place the beginnings of civilized Turian society around 13,000 BCE and were enough of a spacefaring society to have their colonial wars around the time period of 300 BCE. If we use that as an example for human history, we're talking about ten thousand years of history almost entirely wiped out; humans have no idea where their homeworld, Earth, is, basically no concept of what life was like (to the point that they've straight up termed their pre-Exitium days as "The Great Ignorance") before their endless war began, and had to even ask their God what the name of their homeworld was.  
  
I've previously mentioned that I thought there was trauma - serious, serious trauma - baked into the Exitium's history and society, and I think that's pretty much settled the matter. I've read and heard a lot from people both on and offline, all more or less speaking about how terrible the Exitium must be - look how violent their religion is, look how much they venerate martial prowess and wanton slaughter, etc. Part of that, I'm sure, is constructed - a conscious effort to shape and mold the Exitium's society by its leaders to create a more effecient and dangerous fighting force, but I'd wager that it probably has at least some roots in this collective and ancient sense of cultural loss. The Quarian peoples have lost their homeworld, and in less than three hundred years their entire culture has changed into something almost wholly uncreognizable from its original form - the Migrant Fleet and its inhabitants are a culturally rich peoples, to be sure, but even the most pro-Quarian people (myself included amongst their number) would be hard pressed to say that Migrant Fleet culture isn't rapidly evolving - if it hasn't already - into something very different from Rannoch-era quarian society. Think about that for a moment. Imagine if the Migrant Fleet had been wandering the stars for so long that nobody could remember the name, let alone the location of Rannoch. I think that'd probably be a pretty big sticking point for most Quarians at that point - and here's the Exalted Exitium. Assuming their records are true - the humans of the Exitium would still remain ignorant of their own homeworld's name, if the Doom Slayer hadn't given them that information.  
  
And that leads me into the section covering the "Era of Sin." Word of warning: the abridged introduction talks about how the Exitium spent eight thousand - EIGHT THOUSAND - years in a state of religious mania that makes the old Thessian Crusades look like toddlers playing at the beach, but the later chapters that go into detail are really, really, REALLY explicit about the atrocities the Exitium inflicted upon itself. Imagine the worst excesses of the Thessian Crusades, of the Five-Month-Night of Palaven, of modern Batarian society, and you'll get an idea of what's in store for you if you read on - at one point, on Gaia's capital city of Indomitable, it's claimed that dozens of city blocks were cleared with channels dug beneath them where civilians were hung up, cut open, and bled dry all so that a "Pool of Penance" could be filled in the city's centre.  
  
Apparently, the Pool of Penance overflowed and flooded a large portion of the city with the blood, viscera and corpses of more or less innocent people. On multiple occasions.  
  
Lots of people talk about how the Exitium is going to convert all of the Citadel species into soldiers for their cause by force; about how ridiculous it is that the Exitium claims to be a religion of peace and tolerance when it preaches nothing but violence. I'm inclined to disagree. My hypothesis at the moment is that the Era of Sin was a collective "venting" of sorts - a buildup of trauma and loss and anger which culminated in a furious, eight-thousand year long timespan of society-scale flagellation. Of course I'm not going to say that the Exitium's all flowers and sunshowers now, but I think that the records given to us make it pretty clear that:  
  
a) This "venting," despite all the horrors that came with it, did its job of getting all that frustration and hatred at being stuck in such a garbage position out of the Exitium's collective system,  
  
b) The Exalted Exitium is downright terrified that it might slip into this sort of behaviour again, to the point that there are references to how they must never forget the Era of Sin and its excesses littered throughout the entire Volumes of Unity,  
  
and c) The Doom Slayer's personal intervention (whether it actually happened as recorded or not) is a sign that the religious powers which hold sway over the entire Exitium see this period as something they're still paying penance for, even to this day.  
  
Look at it this way: the Exitium measures its history like so. The First Era of Survival covers the time between The Great Ignorance and the founding of the Exitium. The Second Era of Resistance begins with the founding of the Exitium, and ends after the first time Hell nearly wipes all of the Exitium out. The Third Era of Sin - we've discussed that. Literally everything after that? That's the Modern Era. Over thirty thousand years of history, and the Exitium sees nothing noteworthy enough to create a new "era" in its own records - the Exitium's been pushed back to Gaia several times, new kinds of magic have been discovered, countless numbers of people have died - but nothing has been out of the ordinary. This can't be a mistake or a lack of effort on the parts of the historians who have made the narrative of the Exitium as it's been presented to us - I think there's been a concious effort to take all of that anger and frustration and sorrow at being forced to fight what might as well be an eternal war, and focus it solely on their enemy, instead of anything else. It's why I'm honestly certain that the Exitium won't really pressure the Citadel races into doing anything.  
  
Only two things matter to the Exitium: survival, and winning their war against Hell. In their view, the second will happen - eventually - so long as they survive, so really it's only the first thing that truly counts. The Citadel being allies is nice, and I'm sure they'd love to have us as formal combatants in their war, but frankly I don't think they really care about us in terms of combat potential or even by numbers all that much. The Exitium doesn't need more bodies - they're not even actively expanding their territory, supposedly - what they need is better equipment, better magic, better technology, and so on.  
  
Anyways - this has gotten kind of out of hand, so I'll stop there for today. Hopefully I'll have more soon, epsecially once I get the chance to speak to some preachers and wizards in person.  
  
Goddess, that's so weird to write out.

**(Showing page 1 of 7841)**

**►Tuchanka Tough**

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

Void, you are NOT joking about the Era of Sin bit. I skipped ahead in the Volumes of Unity and that thing with the giant blood-corpse pool you mentioned isn't even scratching the surface of the shit that went down then. Apparently at some point the nutcases running the Exitium during that time locked an entire city's population on a giant space station, kept the power running, then destroyed all the ways out just so everyone there could die of starvation or something? What the actual fuck? How messed up would you have to be to do something like that?

Not to detract from the work you're doing, thanks a ton as usual Mono, just...I'm gonna have nightmares after reading what I've read and I'm not even a quarter of the way through that section yet.

**►Ratcaller**

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

**[TEXT DELETED]**

**[User has been temporarily banned for this post: 2 weeks / +25 Infraction. MOD NOTE: Racism is not permitted on Ascent. Doesn't matter if you have Quarian friends or not, pal.]**

**►The Hunter**

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

I suppose the Exitium's martial outlook - and their religion, and their official stance of tolerance - makes more sense in light of the history that's been made avilable to us at this time, but I remain hesitant. Even supposing that the Exitium does not wish for us to be involved in their conflict unless we choose to step into that arena, I have no small inkling that, at some point, the decision will not be theirs or ours to make.

Regardless, I must admit I find myself interested in such a redemption - of a society which fell to madness, and yet, despite spending eight thousand years festering in the pits of religious excess, managed to claw its way back into propriety. My distaste for the Doom Slayer Religion aside, I think that in and of itself is very commendable.

**►Monoglass** (Original Poster)

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

@Tuchanka Tough - Well, so am I, so you're certainly not alone on that one. Still, I think it speaks to a rather...perverse sense of guilt, perhaps, that the Exitium's kept all the records on all the horrible things they've done. They could easily have just purged their records, conveiently "forgotten" or "lost" all these details - but they haven't. They've coded it as a religious matter of importance, sure, but I think it's a noble thing that even all these years later they're still adamant about never returning to the excesses of that time period.

@Ratcaller - I don't particularly care to reply to you, besides the fact that the moderators will most certainly ban you for saying as such - and I really think you should go take a good look at yourself in the mirror, and ask what you've done in your life that's gotten you to the point where the quarians, of all people, foster such anger in you. Have you even spoken to a quarian in person before?

@ The Hunter - Well, if we are dragged into this war by circumstance, I really still don't think it's the Exitium's fault. As far as I'm aware, they didn't fire the first shot in this war on Hell, and they also didn't ask to meet us - there's more info regarding the Mass Relays (or what they call Spatial Tunnelers) in later chapters of the Volumes of Unity, but they locked the relay linking their space to ours and were content to leave it alone.

**►HornySalarian**

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

Holy fuck the Exitium doesn't do anything by halves, huh. Guns? Big. Ships? Big. Chainsaw swords? Bigger. Crusades? Biggest.

I really want to meet this Doom Slayer - guy's got to be a massive goldmine for information on the Exitium, since it sounds like he knows way, way more than the actual historians do - and I also do wonder if the Exitium's higher-ups actually do know more than they let on, or if they've altered their history to be, somehow, nicer-sounding than it actually is.

**►JustSomeTurian**

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

I can see your terminal, jackass. Get off Ascent and get back to work!

(Also, well done, Monoglass, as usual.)

**►NoFishInTheLake**

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

Wonder if this record's even remotely accurate, though. So...the Exitium's been pushed back to their homeworld a whole bunch of times, lost and rediscovered tons of their tech and history a whole bunch, yeah? I mean, I know this is their official record of history, but I can't imagine their view of events is accurate given how much info's probably been lost through time, misunderstandings, etc, etc...

**►RannochDreamer**

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

I don't usually post in your threads, Monoglass, but I'd just like to thank you for not jumping on the quarian-hate train; I really do appreciate your comparison of quarian and human history. I can't imagine the Migrant Fleet not resolving the issue of Rannoch - or finding somewhere else suitable for habitation - within the next few generations, and thousands of years of not having a homeworld (understatement of the year, I know) must really be scarring, even if the humans think it's ancient history at this point.

**►AgileVolcano**

Replied On Jun 20th 2657:

Reading up on the Exitium - from your analyses to the Volumes itself - I dunno, I kind of see a chance for the Krogan to shape up, now that the Exitium's here. Endless conflict for a good reason? I know there's no shortage of mercs and soldiers who'd jump at the chance to get their fight on while actually contributing to a good cause. Void, if the Exitium can build a society out after all the shit they've been through, there's no way the Krogan can't do the same. I'd like to think that, anyway.

**End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 7839, 7840, 7841**


	10. PRECIPICE (I)

**BOOK ONE: REVELATIONS  
VOLUME THREE: PRECIPICE (I)**

_22nd of the Third Umbral Wind, Year 1157 of the Twenty-Sixth Age  
(June 21, 2657 Galactic Standard)_

**TRANSMISSION ENCRYPTION LOCK: RELEASED  
W10-2657 FROM COUNCIL  
ASSIGNMENT TO FOLLOW  
MAGITECHNOLOGY DEMONSTRATION @ PD BAY A4 APPROX 0900  
S.A TO GATHER INTEL WHERE POSSIBLE  
FURTHER NEGOTIATION W/ EE PERSONNEL ONGOING: CX PRIMARY MEETING DISCUSSION APPROX 1230  
S.A TO ASSIST FC SECURITY OPERATIONS AND ENSURE SMOOTH FC  
PRIORITY ONE: ENSURE SAFETY OF COUNCIL  
PRIORITY TWO: ENSURE SAFETY OF EE PERSONNEL  
PRIORITY THREE: ENSURE CORDIAL RELATIONS WITH EE & EE PERSONNEL UNTIL NOTED OTHERWISE  
PRIORITY FOUR: LIAISE WITH EE PERSONNEL FOR PASSIVE INTEL  
ALL OTHER PRIORITIES SAME AS PREVIOUS**

Saren opened his eyes, and in one smooth motion swung out of bed and checked the wall-mounted clock built into the small weapons rack mounted above his pillows.

_0730,_ Saren noted, nodding to himself. _Acceptably late._

He went about his morning routine, soothing himself with the familiarity of the actions - heading straight to the kitchen, brewing a carafe of tuppossa first and pulling the breakfast he’d prepped the previous night out of the fridge and into the reheater was something he could do blindfolded, and - of course - his timing was set such that as he stepped out of the shower and put on his combat undersuit (neatly pressed, cleaned, triple-checked for wear or damage and hung on a hanger next to the shower door) his food and drink were ready. He poured himself a glass of tuppossa, fished a set of engraved cutlery from the tray on the kitchen counter, sat down, and checked his day’s schedule on his omnitool.

_9AM: Magic testing @ PD Bay A4_

_10:30AM: CX Meeting @ CT w/ Council, EE Ambassadors_

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Saren growled, sighing as he rubbed at his forehead; he took a sip of his drink as he turned on the holo built into the dining table - preset to Relay Beacon News - and half-watched a morning talk show host debate callers regarding the safety of the Makron’s AI modules.

_I’d take anything over this_ , Saren thought bitterly as he ate his breakfast - dry-aged _zokse_ and an array of exotic microgreens grown in his own custom hydroponics unit - fast enough to be quick, but slowly enough to enjoy the small fortune it had cost him. _Bodyguard duty on Thessia, nonlethal recon on Omega...anything else. Spirits help me, if the Council asks me to keep playing tag-along with the Exitium’s ambassadors…_

He let the thought trail off as he finished his food, allowing himself a solid two minutes to drink his tuppossa and wallow in frustration before getting up and cleaning his dishes; it would have been easy to relax for the next while and simply fly down to the testing site, but Saren decided that walking at least part of the way would be for the best, if only to get a feel for how things were on the ground. Within minutes he was leaving his apartment, fully armoured, his sidearm strapped to his belt holster module and ready for anything except having to deal with the Exitum and its baggage.

Alas, it was not to be - he managed to take an aircar to a spot near the private docking bay without incident, exited the vehicle and was promptly interrupted by the sight of some sort of altercation mere metres from the entrance to the row of landing pads: a hanar and one of the Exitium’s human preachers, clad in brown robes and carrying a large bag over its shoulders, were standing in the middle of a throng of civilians, and even without being able to hear them it was obvious from the human’s body language, the hanar’s incessant twitching and the crowd’s nervous rumbling that something was happening.

“-this one will not tolerate any further of the heathen’s mindless heresy,” the hanar shouted - relatively speaking - as it gestured wildly at the human; Saren rolled his eyes as he pushed his way through the crowd.

“My friend, I mean no insult to you or the Enkindlers,” the human replied cheerfully, placing his hands up in placation. “But just as you have faith in the Enkindlers, I, too, have faith in the Doom Slayer. I was merely asked by a concerned citizen if the Doom Slayer, blessed is His name, would be capable of defeating an Enkindler with his bare hands-”

“-the very thought itself is heresy!-”

“-and, not knowing much of the Enkindlers, I simply stated the truth,” the preacher continued with calm earnestness. “Regardless of their origin, it is merely a statistical likelihood given His record of defeating enemies of ungodly origin that yes, the Doom Slayer would indeed be able to soundly and rather savagely defeat anything, Enkindler or not, in a bout of fisticuffs.”

“F...fisticuffs? This one is rendered speechless by your words,” the Hanar screeched - relatively speaking - as it began to hover towards the preacher, tentacles raised and body flashing with what Saren recognized as unbridled rage as it prepared its venom. “The very thought - how DARE such-”

“-excuse me,” Saren interrupted, placing himself between the two. “I can’t help but notice the two of you are causing something of a commotion in an area that isn’t a pre-approved proselytizing zone.”

“Oh! My good turian sir, sincerest of apologies,” the preacher replied, bowing deeply. “I meant no such offense - I was not preaching, but merely responding to a question that someone asked of me as I was on my way to a place where I would be able to carry out my spiritual duties legally.”

“This one breaks no such laws,” the hanar replied, backing away slightly. “This one merely defends the spiritual honour of the Enkindlers from the indignity and foul language of the human...priest,” it said with nearly-audible fury.

“Freedom of speech is a protected right on the Citadel,” Saren replied flatly. “You don’t have to like the fact that this man claims the Doom Slayer could punch an Enkindler to death-”

“-he most certainly could not!-”

“-theoretically neither of us can give an ironclad answer to that question-”

“-but it is well within his rights to say that,” Saren concluded, folding his arms; the small crowd around the group was approaching quiet, watching the proceedings with interest. “And before you continue, you can’t deny that you were approaching this man with your tentacles raised and your poison ready to go.”

The entire crowd fell silent, all attention on the hanar - through which the priest simply smiled serenely, though Saren thought he did look a little confused by what was going on.

“What position do you hold, honoured turian,” the hanar said slowly, “that gives you a right to intrude upon our business, then?”

“Spectre Saren Arterius,” Saren replied coolly, “and I interrupted your little debate because I’m fairly certain you were about to attempt to strangle a man from the Exalted Exitium during ongoing Contact negotiations.”

“Oh, Slayer” the human said, eyes wide with surprise. “I had no idea.”

The hanar simply turned to Saren, its body pulsing slowly through a variety of colours.

“You don’t deny it, then?” Saren pressed, scowling.

“This one is bound to defend the Enkindlers,” the hanar replied slowly. “It is a matter of honour - of doing what is just. Would the honoured Spectre accuse this one of violence, even when no such violence has been committed?”

“Yes,” Saren replied matter-of-factly. “You were, less than a minute ago, literally about to strangle this man to death, maybe pump him full of poison. You also haven’t categorically denied my accusation, and this entire crowd saw you about to do it, so yes, I would accuse you of that.”

“Spectre or civilian, it matters little,” the hanar answered. “This one is well within its rights to do as it pleases until the law has been violated. Is this one being detained?”

“What? No, you’re - I’m not a C-Sec officer,” Saren grumbled. “I’m just trying to stop you from doing something stupid.”

“This one does not need help from the most honourable and great Spectre Saren Arterius,” the hanar said mockingly.

Saren swore under his breath, checked the clock in his HUD - _0830_ \- and glared at the hanar. “Look, I have somewhere to be, and I have absolutely no patience for your pyjack-shit right now. Leave the human alone and clear out of here before I make you, got it?”

The hanar twitched, flushing a deep crimson-pink. “The honoured Spectre threatens this one?”

“I’ve killed men over much less,” Saren said matter-of-factly. “Being a Spectre has its perks - you wouldn’t believe how many times my sidearm has resolved incidents - legally - for me. Care to try your luck?”

Silence, for several moments.

“Ah....this one will be leaving without further incident,” the hanar said quietly.

“Good.” Saren watched as the hanar bobbed away slowly, pausing at the edge of the crowd to turn back to the human.

“This one,” the hanar said angrily, “knows it is still correct.”

“Okay,” the human replied, shrugging. “Have a nice day!” He turned to Saren and offered his arm. “Slayer, who pissed in that thing’s breakfast? It was merely a question. In any case - thank you for resolving the situation peacefully, Spectre Arterius. It would have been awfully terrible if I’d had to kill the thing in self-defense.”

Saren clasped arms with the human half-heartedly and shrugged. “Just keeping the peace.” He looked up at the crowd - which was still watching in silence - and scowled. “Nothing to see here! Move along!”

“BOOOOOOOOOOO,” a krogan shouted from somewhere within the crowd. “SPOILSPORT!”

“I - what?” Saren glared at the krogan, who spat on the ground and lumbered off as the rest of the crowd dispersed. “Spirits. Try to do something nice for once, and this is what I get. Wonderful. Look,” he continued, turning to the preacher, “I need to be somewhere soon - just...try not to start any fights, by accident or otherwise.”

“Of course. I shall do my best to, as you said, keep the peace,” the preacher replied, opening the massive bag he had slung over his shoulder. “Before you go, though, would you care for some reading material? I understand that proselytizing is not allowed in the area, but since I have no other gifts to offer y-”

“-I should go,” Saren interjected before eagerly jogging off towards the direction of the docking bay; his mood, already terrible, was not made any better by the sight of Priority Docking Bay A4 - long, seemingly-endless lines snaked out of the bay, a handful of protesters were having heated discussions with a small group of C-Sec personnel to the side of the bay’s entrance, and perhaps worst of all, Lord Protector Ryder in his full ceremonial getup - who was chatting with another group of C-Sec officers by the entrance - spotted him as he approached.

“SPECTRE ARTERIUS!” Alec bellowed, waving at Saren. “Who would have thought you would be here? Even so - how wonderful to see you!”

“It was in my schedule, which has been shared with you,” Saren replied sourly as he shook hands and clasped arms with Alec. “Unless you’re telling me you didn’t read it?”

“Oh, no, I did,” Alec replied, grinning wildly. “But you’re several minutes early!”

“That’s - I’m just going to go in and take a look at the exhibit,” Saren said, ignoring Alec’s attempt at a conversation. “We’ll talk later once my touring is done, alright?”

“Oho, but of course! The thought of seeing magic and its applications up close - I won’t keep you a minute longer, then. Enjoy yourself - only once in your lifetime will you see magic for the first time,” Alec bellowed, gesturing grandly at the side entrance reserved for VIPs.

Saren simply nodded and made his way through the door; beyond, the hangar where the _Blessings of the Lector Book Forty-Four Chapter Six Verse Twenty-two_ was docked now housed a massive array of Citadel Services prefab buildings, each one bearing some sort of magical exhibit; most of the hangar was reserved for the general public, and Saren could see countless numbers of small tour groups being given guided tours around the hangar. The VIP section was comparatively small, and though Saren didn’t personally know all of the people in the cordoned area he did recognize several politicians, corporate magnates and heads of state.

“Spectre Arterius?” A woman’s voice, familiar in its raspy, deep tones, called out, and he glanced to his side to see Abbess Hannah Shepard in her ornamented dull-green armour, nodding at him with a small smile, both hands resting atop the hilt of her chainsword; the large, boxy weapon he’d last seen her carrying on her hip had been replaced with something closer in size to his own sidearm, though it still seemed bulky and oversized by Saren’s estimates for a pistol, or something equivalent to it.

“Abbess Shepard,” Saren replied, his tone professional and polite. “I wasn’t aware you were part of the Citadel’s delegation.”

“It was something of a last-minute addition,” Hannah admitted with a shake of her head; the dull-gold cylinders hanging from her shoulders and belt clinked slightly as she approached him. “The order I am...attached to, for lack of a better term, thought it best to have a representative here who might be considered less threatening.”

“Oh? We only spoke briefly during our last meeting,” Saren replied, frowning slightly, “but I was under the impression you were a, ah… Knight-Errant, I believe? A roaming soldier of sorts? What would be threatening about that?”

Hannah barked out a laugh, and smirked. “A lie of omission, Spectre Arterius. The Order of the Knight-Errant is something not too far removed from your Spectres, if my admittedly small amount of research serves me well - we are highly trained and given the right to attach ourselves with any other organization as...assistants, of a general sort. It simply so happens that for the past while, I have been working with the Exalted Exitium’s Church of the Inquisitor.”

Saren stared, mouth tightening into a firm, blank expression.

“You are familiar, then?” Hannah said quietly.

“Not particularly,” Saren replied flatly. “I wasn’t aware that the Exalted Exitium still had an...Inquisition, if your translation magic works correctly. I’d read that there was an Inquisition during your Age of Sin, but had assumed it no longer existed - a mistake on my part, I see. Even so, Inquisitions, or organizations bearing similar names, have never been known for their kindness or restraint in the history of the Citadel’s races - so you’ll forgive me for being, ah, surprised to see the Exitium’s modern equivalent sending a representative here during First Contact negotiations.”

“True enough. Allow me to reassure you, the days of the Inquisition flaying innocent civilians in the streets is long past, and to this day the entire Exitium atones for such sins. With the Doom Slayer’s guidance, blessed be His name,” she said, signing the Slayer’s sign over her chest, “the Inquisition has taken a more proper approach to the distribution of fury and justice to the heretic and the demon; my being here is simply to ensure that the spiritual security of the Citadel remains intact, so to speak. Matters of security are not my purview at this time.”

“Lord Protector Ryder’s in charge of that, no?” Saren asked.

“Indeed he is,” Hannah replied, a wan smile creeping onto her face. “Personality aside, the man excels at his duties - so long as I avoid extended conversations with him, I have no issues with the man.” She paused, then scoffed slightly. “A stereotype, true, but never have I met a man of his type who did not speak when he could shout.”

“He is loud, I won’t deny that,” Saren admitted, allowing himself a small chuckle before returning to his previous, professional tone. “Of course, I’ll have to inform my superiors that the Inquisition has sent someone here - nothing personal, but perhaps it would be best for you or one of the ambassadors to explain you and your organization’s role to the Councilors before any, ah, misunderstandings take root?”

“That is more than fair, Spectre. Rest assured - I am, at this time, the only person attached to the Inquisition present on the Citadel, unless you count Sister Nought one of their number as well. Frankly speaking my job at this time consists mostly of writing and sending reports to my own superiors in the Exalted Exitium’s hierarchy. Heresy, after all, can hardly take root when the sin itself does not exist in this blessed, virgin land,” Hannah said with a wide, beaming smile. “Blessed is the Doom Slayer, for His hands have shielded the Citadel from the stench of Hell - let us pray that it remains just so, if only for a little while longer.”

“Uh....right. Well. In any case, I was here to see the magictechnology displays,” Saren said, eagerly cutting Hannah off from launching into an oncoming display of religious rapture.

“If you’d prefer, I could give you the tour,” Hannah offered, nodding. “From one warrior to another, I imagine I could provide insights that the guides from the Church of the Lector might be unable to give.”

“I’d be honoured,” Saren replied in a tone that sounded entirely unconvincing to him; if she noticed it, Hannah made no mention of such.

“Wonderful! Let us away, then - the first might very well be the most useful and widely-used,” Hannah said, leading Saren over to what looked like a mundane Citadel Services compact toilet cubicle - the sort that was as ubiquitous on the Citadel as it was despised for being cramped despite being, in theory, capable of holding a krogan. “This small toilet stall has been modified with a runic spatial compression framework - have you heard of them?”

“I read,” Saren said slowly, taking note of the incredibly faint array of interlinked runes barely visible on the cubicle’s exterior, “that the Exitium was capable of something like that - fitting bigger spaces into smaller enclosures, if I recall?”

“Just so,” Hannah replied.

“It looks normal from the outside, save for the inscriptions,” Saren said, his skepticism only slightly audible.

“Open the door, Spectre Arterius, and you shall see the magic at work,” Hannah said with a knowing smile.

Saren did as he was told, venturing over to the door and pulling it open-

-and he stood in the doorway, mouth agape as he took in the sight.

There, before him, was a massive, luxurious bathroom as spacious as the sort he might have seen in a Thessian mansion: a bathing tub, shower, toilet, and a full-sized sauna-bath were laid out with room to spare.

_That’s - what? How?_ Saren thought, peering inside the room before taking a tentative step inside; his gaze snapped from corner to corner to corner to corner, mind churning and racing. _Four? Four-fifty? No - this is pushing five hundred square feet._ He stepped back outside, quickly pacing around the exterior of the cubicle before staring through the open doorway into the expansive room within before, finally, scratching at his fringe uneasily.

“It’s smaller on the outside,” Saren muttered at last.

Hannah said nothing as she stood next to him, smirking. “Quite nice, isn’t it?”

Saren remained silent, staring through the doorway for an entire minute, before he turned to her, a smile creeping onto his face. “Material cost?”

“Next to nothing. Ninety percent of the hermetic fuel needed can be found without little effort across the entirety of the Exitium - and the Citadel’s own territory, I might add - and the last ten percent is simply a matter of refining a few chalks and generic cosmic dust clusters. It’s a framework, not an active enchantment - once the arrays are inscribed, charged and installed, the spatial compression is permanent, or long enough to not matter - and in the Exalted Exitium, you can rest assured that when I say long enough, I do mean that in a very real sense,” Hannah explained proudly. “Even in Indomitable, Gaia’s capital city, the poorest of the poorest slums boast apartments ten to fifty times their exterior size.”

Saren’s smile began turning into a grin. “Construction time?”

“I’ve seen fresh soldiers throw up basic ones - two to five time increases in space - in an hour or so. Hermetic specialists can do that twenty seconds, given the right tools and stencils.”

“Stability? What does it take to disrupt the...magic...framework?”

“Quite a bit. I’ve seen starships crash into one another and emerge with the rooms intact - archaeologists have found spatially-expanded rooms from over twenty thousand years ago functioning without any trouble. Frankly, if something dangerous enough to destabilize spatial compression runes is anywhere near you, I believe you might have bigger problems,” Hannah said, nodding sagely.

“Safety?” Saren asked, genuine excitement in his voice. “Assuming you force a collapse or disable the runes with something - someone - inside, what happens?”

“There are safety runes installed - everything in the room that doesn’t fit in the original space is simply ejected into the surrounding area,” Hannah noted, “though that tends to be a rather...explosive event. One does not fling the contents of an entire room into an enclosed hallway or street without some bumps occurring.”

“Minimum size? Could I, say, spatially compress the space within a briefcase, and stow a vehicle inside? An artillery cannon?” Saren stared at Hannah, mind racing with infinite possibilities. “A starship?”

“You...could,” Hannah said slowly, raising her hands slightly, “but it is not as simple as stuffing an entire starship into a bookbag. There is an exponential relationship between the size of the host room - or device - and the complexity of the array required. Turning a miniscule apartment into a reasonably-sized dwelling is not terribly difficult, and making room for five starships inside a docking bay meant for one is not an onerous feat, to be sure. Placing an entire starship into cubicle this size, on the other hand - especially a starship which itself is already burdened with a great deal of magic - it is possible,” Hannah admitted, “but the cost in material terms and the skill needed to weave such magic would be unimaginable prohibitive.”

“You didn’t say it was impossible,” Saren pointed out eagerly.

“No, I did not,” Hannah replied, shaking her head. “Let us examine my armour, as an example.” She gestured to one of the modules on her breastplate - large enough to hold a few grenades, Saren guessed - and pulled out a pair of boxy magazines identical to the one loaded into her firearm. “This ammunition carrier can hold hundreds of these magazines for my shotgun without issue, yes, and in a pinch I could empty its contents and use it to store several long firearms, to be sure - but even for a woman of my standing, this is near the limit of what I could requisition from the armourers I work with.”

“But there are people - a select few, perhaps? - who would have access to the sort of technology I’m asking of?” Saren pressed.

Hannah’s expression glazed over into one of awe, and she spoke in a reverent, hushed tone. “Yes, Spectre Arterius, there are a select few - less than a hundred, across the entirety of the Exalted Exitium. The finest of our warriors - the Dawn Sentinels, who themselves number exactly sixty and six - and beyond that, we speak of the travelling companions of the Doom Slayer, blessed is His name, and, of course, of the Doom Slayer Himself. They say that the Doom Slayer can carry on his person ten thousand starships, ten million vehicles and ten billion firearms and still run faster than a demon can scream for mercy. Blessed are the Hands of the Wretch, for from his Hands did come the Suit of the Praetor - not armour, for He needs no protecting, but merely a vault to contain the tools and implements of slaughter He deemed and does deem worthy to grace His hands.”

Saren said nothing as Hannah closed her eyes and muttered prayers beneath her breath for the next minute - but he did look back at the room and the space within, idea upon idea taking form in his mind.


	11. PRECIPICE (II)

"I do not mean to interrupt you," Hannah said, chuckling, "but you have been silent for nearly a minute now and I could not help but wonder if you wished to continue our tour."  
  
"Oh. Uh…of course," Saren muttered, regaining some of his focus. "Apologies - there are so many applications of spatial compression that I want to try out, to test, that I forgot myself." He shrugged slightly, a smile creeping onto his face. “Even if the possibilities are not infinite, they are, compared to what I have at my disposal now, close enough to it. I’ve always prided myself on being, ah, flexible, tactically - and I imagine I’ll be expanding on my toolset in the near future. ”  
  
Hannah nodded, though her expression was more sedate than Saren’s. “So long as you remain cognizant of that fact that, in the end, they are merely that: tools.” She paused, her expression growing rapturous, and before Saren could intercept the oncoming bout of manic preaching the Abbess had already begun. “The Doom Slayer, blessed is His name, carries many tools of war. Lucifer’s Bane is his Sword, the Suit of the Praetor his Armoury, and yet, He exalts in the glory of slaughter with his hands as he walks upon mountains of the slain with his feet. Many commands He has given, yet never can we forget the first: Rip and Tear, until it is done! What weapons were His upon his birth? His fists, Spectre Arterius - His fists, and His rage. Nothing more. Nothing less.”  
  
Saren swallowed his instincts - first to push her back, second to step away - as Hannah leaned in close: so close that he could smell her zeal. A moment of silence passed as the decorative cylinder-chains on her armour clinked into his chestplate. “Of course I understand,” Saren said slowly.  
  
“So you say,” Hannah replied, remaining uncomfortably close. “I know you are a great warrior, Spectre Arterius - and it is the instinct of any great warrior to become excited at the prospect of upgrading the lethality of their weapons. But I have seen too many warriors slain by virtue of overconfidence, forgetting that it is not the lethality of the weapon that makes the warrior - it is the bloodlust of the warrior who wields the weapon.”  
  
Saren’s expression went flat, and only the thought of a lecture from the Council kept his voice from dropping into something colder than a professional tone. “Let me be very clear, Abbess. I am under no illusions about the nature of the threat your demonic foe presents, and in the same vein I am aware that without your magic and knowledge we - the Citadel - are at a disadvantage. That does not mean we are fools.” Saren paused, took a breath, and forced himself to sound kinder. “Not to say that Citadel space has any shortage of idiots, especially idiots with guns - but given the right tools, knowledge and training I can assure you we are more than capable of...holding the line, at the very least.”  
  
Hannah looked for several moments as though she were about to debate the point, but she closed her mouth a few moments later before taking several steps back; she flushed with embarrassment and looked sheepishly at the floor. “You are correct, Spectre Arterius. I apologize - I shall admit that, at least for me, it is difficult to understand on an instinctual level that your lack of knowledge of magic, Hell and the like does not equate to a lack of history, especially with conflict. I fear I have spent too much time lecturing Sister Nought - and enforcing Inquisitorial law, perhaps. In doing so, I have allowed that to colour my treatment of you and your people. Once again - I am sorry for acting as such.”  
  
“As long as you keep that in mind, Abbess, then your apology is accepted,” Saren replied halfheartedly. If Hannah had picked up what Saren thought was a patently unconvincing tone, she showed no signs of doing so, instead gesturing at the next exhibit - a larger podium split into three distinct sections, each bearing a large stone tablet and a series of holograms in front of each one.  
  
“Well, let us continue, then. The decision was made to show you - and others - the spatial compression exhibit first,” Hannah explained as she led Saren over to the display, “as it provides an easy-to-understand and impossible-to-refute display of magitechnology applied in a practical manner. Having seen that, I think an overview of the basics would be in order. Have you had time to avail yourself of the reading material the Church of the Lector provided regarding the fundamentals of magic?”  
  
“I’m afraid I only had time to skim the introduction,” Saren admitted. “There are three branches of...magic? Is that correct?” Arriving at the display, Hannah and Saren stood alongside a smaller group of individuals - a smattering of representatives from various manufacturing companies - being led by another soldier, and the two examined the display.  
  
“You are, indeed, correct. The spatial compression framework you examined just now is an example - if not _the_ example - of the hermetic school, which relies on the designing and activation physically-constructed magic array,” Hanna confirmed, gesturing at the leftmost display; it rotated through several images showcasing buildings and rooms whose interior spaces were clearly larger than their exteriors. “Sorcery and theurgy are the other two schools of magic the Exitium wields, though ultimately all three draw from the same source - the aetheric dimension, which straddles what you might think of as ‘real’ space and Hell.”  
  
Saren considered this for a few moments as he watched the displays - one showing a variety of the Exitium’s spellcasters throwing lightning and fire from their hands, and the other showing the same healing magic Saren had seen the day prior - before looking up suddenly. “You said that we’re looking at the three schools of magic the Exitium wields. Are you implying the existence of others?”  
  
“There are others, yes - shamanism, familiar-binding, geomancy and more -, but most have been adapted and folded into our own schools of magic,” Hannah replied.  
  
“And the ones which the Exitium hasn’t?” Saren pressed.  
  
Hannah's expression darkened, and her expression grew severe. “The Exitium wields every weapon it can _safely_ wield, allowing for acceptable risk, Spectre Arterius. Are there more forms of magic than these three? Yes, without question. There is, of course, the sort of ritual magic that Hell’s own hordes use, the use of which is cruel and inefficient, and would of course constitute heresy of the worst sort. Beyond that?” Hannah shook her head. “That line of questioning leads only to the darkest and most foul of places, Spectre. People far greater than you or I have drank from that well and returned broken and ruined at best.”  
  
“And at worst?”  
  
Hannah regarded Saren with a pointed look. “The Inquisition does not approve of such things being discussed. I,” the woman added with a scowl, “do not approve, either.”  
  
Saren folded his arms and frowned. “I’m not trying to waste your time. Consider things from my point of view. A month ago if you - or anyone - had insisted that magic was real and it had observable, practical uses I’d have called you insane. This,” Saren continued, gesturing around the hangar, “is information . You may not know all the nuances of Citadel space, but I get the distinct impression that you understand my line of work - is it so hard to believe that I would want as much information as I can get on threats I might face?”  
  
“...I suppose not,” Hannah admitted. “Even so, I shall not provide the details in such a public space. Know this - there are things which are anathema to all life, holy or unholy. If you wish to continue, I would recommend focusing your attention on the Fourteenth Age - the Age of Blindness; the information provided in the Volumes of Unity regarding the matter are not comprehensive, to be sure, but with a mind as sharp as yours I am sure you will glean much from words unwritten. It will provide context for a later discussion , at which point I will be, ah, more inclined to provide details.”  
  
“That’ll have to do for now. My apologies for derailing the tour,” Saren conceded.  
  
“Mmm. Let us return to the topic at hand,” Hannah replied, clearly eager to change the subject. “The aetheric dimension - a space between spaces, it could be called - is composed of what we call aether; in its home dimension, it is an inert substance, providing sustenance for the few creatures which call it home. For details, you will have to consult with someone more versed in the arithmantic arts, but suffice to say that aetheric energy does not agree with the dimension you and I inhabit. Aether, here,” Hannah continued, gesturing generally around herself, “becomes a powerful, charged, and most of all, incredibly volatile form of power.”  
  
Saren examined the sorcery exhibit closely, paying specific attention to the holographic sorcerers, concentration evident in their features as their hands shone with fire and lightning.  
  
“You...open some sort of rift to this aetheric dimension? Control its output to change how it reacts to this dimension?” Saren guessed.  
  
Hannah regarded Saren with evident approval. “Your deductive abilities are impressive, Spectre. Yes, that is more or less the underlying theory behind sorcery. We showcase fireballs and lightning here, as these are the two forms of war-sorcery first practiced by our acolytes. Lightning comes first - it is nothing more than opening, then sustaining a controlled breach into the aether. Fireballs come next - gathering, and releasing a charged mass of aether. Once an acolyte can connect to the aetheric dimension, sustain an opening, then hold - and manipulate - said power, we consider them as having mastered the fundamentals.”  
  
“This magic,” Saren pondered, “is it restricted in some way? Are there limits on who can learn and wield it?”  
  
“No, there are no such limits,” Hannah replied, head tilted in momentary confusion before her expression brightened. “Ah - fear not, Spectre. Magic is most unlike the biotic witchery your kind wields, if what little research I have had the time to carry out holds true. True, it can be said that some possess an innate gift or predisposition towards magic; much in the same way that some are destined to favour the chainsword over a marksman’s rifle, or in that some are born tall and some short. Even so - I have heard it said that sorcery is the most egalitarian form of slaughter. Fueled only by the integrity of the soul and as much mental strain as its wielder can bear, war-magic cares only for intellect, willpower, and cunning - nothing for the size or physical might of its wielder.”  
  
“Knowledge sharpens the dullest talon,” Saren muttered, nodding slowly. “My instructors were fond of that saying - how interesting. I’ll need to be a quick learner - there’s a lot of catching up to do, I imagine.”  
  
“A keen mind, the will to learn and the desire to unleash pure cruelty at the demon - it is that easy, and that difficult, to learn sorcery. Yet,” Hannah noted with a small smirk, “somehow I imagine you already have the first two in ample supply. The third - if your station is anything like mine, I find it unlikely that when the time comes you will find your capacity for violence lacking.” She paused, gestured to the last hologram - a rotating display of various persons from the Exitium being healed as he’d seen the day before. “Theurgic magic, on the other hand, is something rather more difficult.”  
  
“I...find myself uncomfortable with the concept, at a base level,” Saren admitted, shaking his head. “Though perhaps that’s a product of us speaking through translation, ah, magic. The word - at least to me - would imply the acting of divine, or at least supernatural agents, to effect change, no?”  
  
“To practice theurgy is not to invoke the power of divinity,” Hannah answered, “but rather to _grasp_ it. Hermetic rituals draw on the sacrifice of specific reagents arranged in complex arrays, and require a small aetheric charge to set off a chain reaction. Sorcerers focus their will to sustain a breach to the aetheric plane, and use their minds to shape power to manipulate the nature of that breach. Theurgic practitioners reach into the aetheric plane, and push through to its bedrock - the Source - and draw on the very flow and ebb of magic itself. With that kind of power, one gains the ability to simply ignore the rules one does not wish to abide by.”  
  
“Body and soul - the healing,” Saren muttered, thinking back to the drell in the hospital. “The body is broken, but the soul and mind are whole - so...what, exactly? You simply demand the body return to its healed state, draw on enough power from the source of magic, and it happens?”  
  
“I am no master of the practice, but as far as I understand the matter, yes,” Hannah said, shrugging slightly. “It is as simple - and as dangerous - as it sounds. As my teacher explained it - imagine a battery capable of generating an infinite amount of power. Without the strictest control, it could just as easily power an entire planet’s worth of machinery as it could reduce the same planet into dust. To practice theurgy, Spectre, is to chip away at the border between life and death - between reality and unreality - and to do so repeatedly. Healing the body is the most basic application of theurgy, and for most - myself included - that is the limit we shall learn.”  
  
“And for those who do learn more, what is the limit? Is there a limit,” Saren pressed, “save for those imposed by a lack of control?”  
  
Hannah shook her head, tutting disapprovingly. “I can smell your bloodlust, Spectre - a worthy trait, almost universally, but here it does not serve you. Theurgy can, in theory, accomplish anything its wielder desires - and yet, never have we simply forced the demonic hordes, in their entirety, to be slain. Even the Wretch, blessed are his Hands, who crafted the only covering the Doom Slayer, blessed be His name, finds suitable to His needs, could only make a weapon capable of eliminating demons in a single sector in this plane - and in the thirty-two thousand or so years that have come and gone since that date of its use, not one soul has been capable of replicating the weapon, let alone give it the power to differentiate between the souls of the Redeemed and the demonic enemy we face.” She paused, her voice quiet and dark. “And that is to say nothing of the many experiments which have had results of a most unwholesome nature. Before my time in the Inquisition - long before - it is said there were Ages when as many Inquisitors were lost to theurgic experiments as were lost in their normal duties. Understand me, Spectre Arterius - when I say you should respect, and perhaps even fear the raw power of theurgy, I do not jest.”  
  
“Abbess, as I already noted, I do understand the seriousness of the situation,” Saren sighed. “I’ll heed your warnings. Just remember, this is all new to me, and everyone else in Citadel space. I’m not trying to frustrate you.”  
  
“Neither do I wish for you to take my cautionary words as condescending, and I do apologize if indeed they ring of such,” Hannah answered, her tone - to Saren, at least - seeming genuinely sorry. “I would say as much, though, to anyone new to these subjects - these are lessons the Exitium learned with great difficulty and no shortage of casualties.”  
  
“Well,” Saren noted with a grim smile, “you’ll be teaching much more of these lessons in the near future, I think.”  
  
“I should hope not,” the Abbess huffed. “It is both a source of joy and frustration that I must educate Sister Nought. I am no...teacher, not formally, in any case. I am overjoyed at the thought of your peoples becoming versed in magic - so long as it is not I who is doing the teaching, it must be said.”  
  
“And dealing with politicians?” Saren pulled up his HUD’s clock - _0945_ \- and sighed. “I’m afraid that, as much as I wish to spend more time checking out the exhibits, our meeting with the Council will be happening soon.”  
  
“Oh, it is no trouble,” Hannah answered with a wave of her hand as the two began walking towards the far end of the hangar where the _Blessings of the Lector Book Forty-Four Chapter Six Verse Twenty-two_ (which, the more Saren thought about it, was a patently ridiculous name for a ship no matter how you looked at it) was docked. “Diplomacy - though, I admit, perhaps, that such a term likely holds a different set of meanings than the kind you might be accustomed to - is one of the primary duties of an Inquisitor.”  
  
“I - actually, I was hoping you could clear that up for me before the meeting begins,” Saren said. “I’m not entirely clear on what it is that you and your organization does, beyond assuming you hold the role of an intelligence agent, or the like. I know you mentioned ‘spiritual security,’ but that doesn’t mean much to me at the moment in concrete terms. It’d go a long way to putting the minds of the Council, myself, and a lot of other people at ease if we knew more than just the name of your organization.”  
  
“The Church of the Inquisitor,” Hannah began, “is itself an offshoot of the Church of the Righteous, which is charged with the dispensation of justice and law. Ours is the same duty, applied more specifically to matters of heresy.”  
  
“Right - but heresy for your people has a more specific meaning than the people of Citadel space are used to,” Saren noted. “Your job, then, is to ensure that nobody ‘consorts with Hell,’ or something along those lines?”  
  
Hannah beamed with pride. “Just so. Anything, and anyone, who finds themselves contributing - knowingly or otherwise - to the cause of Hell must face punishment.”  
  
“That seems...harsh,” Saren mused. “What if someone misses a day of work in a factory, or something like that? Wouldn’t that, technically, be heresy?”  
  
“The _Book of the Predator_ , Volume One, Book Two, Chapter One, Verse Ten,” Hannah began, either ignoring or failing to notice Saren’s muted sighs as she launched into what was evidently a well-practiced piece of religious recitation. “‘Know, then, that to wage the War Eternal is to act without cessation: in attack and defense, in strategy and execution, in retreat and assault, in body and in mind, in rest and in combat - to stop is to court damnation. Know, then, that the Unholy Enemy, the Endless Damned, the Demonic Host - they are without end, infinite in both their numbers and the depths of their depravity. Know, then, that to wage the War Eternal is to live in harmony with the War Eternal. Know, then, that there can be no effort spared, no time lost, and no battle unfought. Know, then, that to act with purpose and to fight without end is to lay the foundation upon which the Doom Slayer, blessed be His name, shall walk upon at the anointed time - then, and only then, when the dawn breaks and He leads us into the Final Crusade, will our salvation be found.”  
  
“I...ah...am not well-versed in religious matters in Citadel space, let alone yours,” Saren admitted, barely holding back the urge to roll his eyes. “You’ll have to interpret that scripture for me.”  
  
“And so I shall. If a factory worker, to use your example, were to shirk their duties - yes, that would be heresy, albeit to a degree most trivial,” Hannah confirmed. “Even so, it is the duty of all citizens to act with purpose and without end, until either the body, the soul, or both fail them utterly. Of course, one does not use a Black Hole Projector to slay a single imp-”  
  
“-you have weapons that fire _black holes_?” Saren interjected. “Just to be clear - literal, actual, time-and-space-deforming black hole guns.”  
  
“Oh. Oh, yes,” Hannah replied, licking her lips with evident glee. “I have had the fortune to wield such weapons twice in my life. They are _quite_ something to behold, Spectre Arterius - enough to make a woman’s knees weak." She paused, flushing slightly and waving a hand dismissively; Saren fought every instinct to press for more information, and instead gestured for her to continue. "Ah! We are straying from our discussion. So - one does not use a Black Hole Projector to slay an imp, and neither does the Inquisition spend its resources on matters as trivially heretical as such. The Lawbringers of the Righteous would charge the worker in question with penance - extra work, perhaps mandatory community service - penance to fit the nature and severity of the crime. Of course, the Lawbringers must also determine the foundation of the heresy - just as it is the duty of the worker to labour, it is also the duty of the forgemaster to ensure their workers are well-rested in body and mind. A worker who does not request time for recuperation from labour is heretical, yes, but a factory-owner who overworks their labourers to the point that failing to turn up for work becomes an appealing idea? Such behaviour is a characteristic of a heretic, too.”  
  
“So what sort of heresy constitutes a matter important enough that an Inquisitor would either be called upon, or would step in? I note that you stated you’re the sole representative of the Inquisition here - do you have superiors to report to? I, for example, report directly to the Council which governs Citadel space,” Saren offered, “but unless otherwise directed I’m free to select my own tasks and can act without oversight.”  
  
“The Church of the Inquisitor maintains parishes on all major, and most minor planets; we coordinate with both clergy and laypeople alike, reporting on matters which might indicate possible spiritual or material threats to the Exitium’s ability to wage war smoothly,” Hannah clarified. “It is with the information gathered from each Inquisitorial branch that the High Inquisitors decide who is sent where and at what time. Speaking generally - a fully-trained Inquisitor is only called upon to directly intervene in situations where a major disagreement or issue is disrupting the logistics of the war effort, or a violation of spiritual security poses threat to us all - demon-worshipers, traitors, and the like,” Hannah spat with evident venom.  
  
 _So...not quite an intel org, not as I’d imagine one. Not much beyond passive monitoring, it sounds like? Gut says no, but she could be lying through her teeth and I’d have no way to check,_ Saren thought as the woman continued.  
  
“It is, in my experience, far more common for the average Inquisitor to deal with the first - and though ensuring that the politicians, bureaucrats and other leaders of the Exitium carry out their duties in a timely fashion is very rarely exciting, it is far less dangerous to the public good. An arrogant forgemaster can be punished and their factory handed elsewhere. A single heretic - a true heretic - can, left unchecked, destroy an entire Sector with their actions.”  
  
Saren snorted a laugh. “Paperwork is boring throughout the galaxy, but it’s a good sign if that’s your primary concern, huh?”  
  
“It is hard for me to remember,” Hannah replied with a grin. “Sister Nought has handled my paperwork for many a year, now. One of the many perks of holding a high position - another of which is the right to select my own posting. I attached myself to Lord Admiral Grissom’s Sixth Crusade Fleet two years ago - it was, and is, a chance to explore the lesser-populated Sectors of the Exalted Exitium while dispensing justice and Inquisitorial authority on worlds and outposts generally used only to the ministrations of the same few Inquisitors. It was merely the guiding will of the Doom Slayer, blessed is His name, which brought our peoples together.”  
  
“I don’t mean to offend you with my next question,” Saren began as the pair reached the holding area next to the _Blessings of the Lector_ ; Castis, Alec and a small pack of personnel from the Exitium and C-Sec were busy escorting the three ambassadors down from a ramp located in the midsection of the ship.  
  
“It is unlikely you will,” Hannah replied, gesturing at Saren with a kind, if slightly intrigued expression. “Ask, and I shall do my best to provide answers.”  
  
Saren nodded. “Do you believe that? Truly believe that the Doom Slayer himself guided our people together, personally? Or was that an expression of faith - that you follow his teachings, and therefore it happened?” _No hesitation_ , Saren noted as Hannah’s answer came before he’d even finished speaking.  
  
“There is no difference between the two,” Hannah replied proudly. “To enact His wishes is to do His will. So it is that all peoples may find faith in Him - if ever I am blessed to be judged by Him, I can say: I submit to you my life’s work, Almighty Slayer, for you commanded me to battle the unholy, and so I did, side-by-side with any who would be my kin. Blessed is His name, for His is the light that shines in the dark, and His is the shadow that looms over the wicked-”  
  
Saren, this time, could not stop himself from rolling his eyes as Abbess Shepard began drawing on a seemingly endless font of inspired prayer; when Lord Protector Ryder finally made his way over to where he and Hannah were standing, ambassadors in tow, Saren felt genuine relief even as the enormous, shouting figure slapped him on the back so hard he felt his jaw rattle.


	12. PRECIPICE (III)

In short order the group boarded the convoy that would return them to the Citadel Tower. Unsure if he was capable of handling any more of Hannah’s preaching - which, incredibly, had not stopped since she’d started replying to his previous question - Saren made the decision to ride with Alec. Nestled in the back of an aircar with the black-haired human, Saren found himself growing to accept, if not necessarily enjoy his company.  
  
“So, Saren,” the Lord Protector said as the convoy took off, “I have spoken at some length with Captain Vakarian and his Lawbringers. They have made it known to me that you have something of a...storied history, yes? Castis himself was uncomfortable with the line of discussion, but the Lawbringers he commands, especially Officers Sarnogar and Sharo, were quick to tell tales of your youth - that you served in a mighty order of warriors known as the ‘Blackwatch,’ despite being below the age of military service, even!”  
  
 _Note to self,_ Saren thought as he felt his blood pressure spike, _personally kill those two with my bare hands._ “I’m afraid the details of my relationship with the Turian Blackwatch are highly classified,” he said aloud with as much good cheer as he could inject into his voice. “I’d love to share some war stories from those days, but you know how it is.”  
  
Alec looked confused, then crestfallen, and he shook his head sadly. “Oh. Oh, I, ah, did not mean to pry into matters private. I do apologize if I have made you uncomfortable - I had not realized military matters might be something you would be forbidden to speak of.”  
  
Saren cocked his head. “Do you not have...covert operations? Redacted missions?”  
  
“No? I can recall no such thing being discussed, at least not around my own person,” Alec replied, raising an eye. “Perhaps that might change were you to speak to a senior member of the Inquisition, but even then the days of hiding our histories has long since passed. Such things, for us, are the hallmark of darker days.”  
  
 _Of course nobody said anything about operational security to you. You’d shout classified info from the rooftops if you thought it’d make for a good story,_ Saren thought, though out loud he simply asked “Do you speak of the Era of Sin?”  
  
“I do. You know our histories well, Spectre,” Alec answered, quieter than he’d ever spoken before. “In those days, they say that whole planets were put to the sword in total silence. Entire sectors of space, set ablaze and the ashes scattered, and all knowledge of such things burned - parchment and person alike. His name be praised,” Alec continued, signing the Slayer’s Sigil thrice with great vigour over his chest, “He showed us, no, forced us to acknowledge the weight of our many sins. We do not act in shadows now, Saren, or at least to my knowledge we do our best not to. It led us down a path that, without divine intervention, I fear we may never have returned from.”  
  
Saren paused, surprised at the man’s sudden and unexpectedly somber mood. “If it’s any consolation, I do have a hard time imagining you as the champion of a grim empire putting the rest of the galaxy to the gallows.”  
  
“Yes, I can hardly imagine myself in that position either,” Alec answered, smiling slightly. “It would ill befit a man of my constitution, I think, to put innocents to the sword. I am a strong man, Saren, and I have seen no shortage of suffering and lost many friends and family to the demons - but to bear that weight, that sin, on my shoulders - I think it would be the death of me.”  
  
“I - uh, I see,” Saren replied, suddenly very eager to change the subject. “Well there’s no need for us to focus on the past, right? I can’t share many - any, really - details about my time with the Turian Armed Forces, but even with all the blacked out parts there’s plenty I’ve done as a Spectre that might be of interest.”  
  
“Tales of Knights-Errant always did suit me more than those of Inquisitors,” Alec rumbled, cheer returning to his posture and voice. “Have you a tale, then, to share?”  
  
“Not long before your people came to our end of the galaxy,” Saren began, “I was charged with dismantling a very powerful group of criminals - pirates, slavers, that sort of thing. They had a massive base of operations located out in the Terminus - far away from the civilized parts of Citadel Space, that is - and they numbered in the hundreds.”  
  
“Pirates. Slavers. Disgusting,” Alec spat. “Before you speak - no, I do not judge you. Those things, the Exitium is familiar with. A rare, almost unheard-of scourge which crops up in the places most far from Gaia - cutthroats and criminals who ply their foul trade, seeking the most vulnerable and most isolated of our communities as their prey. I hope your people show as little mercy as one can give to these scum.”  
  
“I hadn’t finished my story,” Saren noted, smiling. “Like I was saying - there were hundreds of these pirates, and while I could probably have killed them all in open combat it would have been, ah, difficult, to say the least. Not to mention they’d probably scatter instead of lining up to die, and I didn’t exactly want to waste several years tracking these people down. So, instead, I infiltrated the group. Just some down-on-his-luck turian looking to make quick money.”  
  
Alec rumbled uneasily, but said nothing, gesturing for Saren to continue.  
  
“First on the list was changing their targets. It wasn’t hard to get them to turn their focus away from their general operations - a few explosives here, a hacked set of communications there, and suddenly instead of taking slaves, smuggling goods or extorting merchants the group was embroiled in war with other criminal groups who they’d thought had attacked them. Losses were taken, the warlord running the group grew unpopular, and talk of mutiny started to spread throughout the pirate crew. Me, I was just some nobody, one more voice championing mutiny with the rest. We had to rise up, you see, take for ourselves what was ours. Liberate ourselves from an incompetent leader, et cetera - just some feel-good tripe about how, you know, pirates are supposed to be free and all.”  
  
“And this...mutiny? I presume it was successful,” Alec ventured, leaning forward with evident interest.  
  
“Of course it was. And so, when our incompetent leader was overthrown, we all gathered in the main hangar for a big party, to celebrate our new leadership. Well - one pirate, some nobody who’d joined not too long ago wasn’t there,” Saren continued, a smile stretching across his face. “Two hours into the party, the hangar doors opened, and everyone who tried to escape onto the shuttles found their doors locked and their engines disabled. And, as it turns out, without air to breathe most people don’t last too long.”  
  
Silence descended.  
  
“You disapprove?” Saren asked, frowning.  
  
“Oh, no, that is actually quite ingenious,” Alec said slowly, his eyes searching Saren’s. “Just, ah - well, I had figured you to be a tenacious warrior, certainly, but not one quite as ruthless as that. Did you...take pleasure in the act? In sending these men into the cold, airless death of space?”  
  
“Not in their deaths, no,” Saren lied, “but if one has a job to do the fastest, most efficient way to do it seems to me like the proper way to do it.”  
  
“Mmm,” Alec rumbled with approval. “Indeed! Well, well, well. In retrospect, I do have a hard time seeing you as a warrior of my kind - I would not have thought of doing anything besides drawing my blade and slaying these foes in open combat, but that is why you are a Spectre and not a Lord Protector, I suppose. Even so - a cunning mind, they say, makes for a good blade. So I am told, anyway,” the man laughed, returning to his usual cheer - and volume. “I do not try to think so hard about how to fight the unholy and the demonic. Allowing my blade to meet the head of the enemy seems to have worked well enough for me!”  
  
“I can imagine,” was all Saren could come up with. “You do strike me as very, ah, attention-drawing.”  
  
“All the better, Saren. I am - if you will permit me to boast - a fine warrior indeed. Not so skilled as our Ambassadors, perhaps, but I have defeated demons the size of buildings in single combat on numerous occasions. Alas, there is no story to tell, beyond the fact that if you apply a greatsword to the flesh of a demon enough times, it dies. And besides,” Alec concluded with a wide grin, “glory for myself means protecting my comrades who cannot achieve such a feat.”  
  
“Very noble of you,” Saren pointed out.  
  
“Well, I think it is good to strive for nobility in one’s actions. For those who are possessed of cunning and slyness of mind like yourself, like the Inquisitors and their ilk, that may seem rather simple,” Alec admitted with a shrug, “but is a simple thing made poor by its nature? I think there is goodness to be found in having a simple ethos. I am no priest, certainly, but I do not think it unreasonable to say that the Doom Slayer, blessed be His name, is as simple as an instrument of divine wrath can be. He is not possessed, so far as I am aware, of anything beyond rage and revenge, and if something is good enough for Him I am blessed to share even a miniscule part of it. His is Light and His is Rage, for in Him do we fi-”  
  
Saren twitched and had to suppress a frustrated groan - which he did, barely - as, until the aircar arrived at Citadel Tower, Alec began preaching - with slightly less zeal than Hannah, but only slightly - about the Doom Slayer. He all but burst out of the vehicle as soon as the car touched down, finding Castis regarding him with a wide smirk.  
  
“Thanks,” Captain Vakarian muttered as he passed by. “Was getting tired of having to hang out with him.”  
  
Saren grumbled under his breath before turning to the Exitium’s ambassadors; as before, he led them to the Council’s meeting room and took his place in the room’s corner. In short order, the group completed their introductions and began discussing the concrete details of matters which Saren half-listened to, quietly filing pertinent details away in his head as they came up - immigration, trade, knowledge-sharing, embassies, and more. It wasn’t until the topic of a Citadel delegation being sent to Exitium space came up that Saren gave the matter his full attention.  
  
“It seems only fair,” Councilor Tevos said, “that some of our citizens should be given a chance to see your Exalted Exitium. Of course our earlier freeze on open travel still holds, but neither will progress be made by entirely halting the flow of trade, communications and most importantly, people. Over the course of the previous evening and earlier today, we Councilors have come to an agreement that an application-based sort of quasi-immigration would allow the people of the Citadel to...experience and come to accept your culture and its many differences in a more controlled manner.”  
  
“It would, we surmise, be a test run,” Councilor Valern continued. “If this system works out well, that could perhaps allow us to lean towards are faster ‘thawing’ of the freezes we wish for, and if not, well - we’d have to discuss either result in the future regardless, but we hope you see our intentions.”  
  
“Yes, yes, we do,” Faenmoch answered, nodding as he tapped his fingers together - in thought, amusement, or approval, Saren wasn’t quite sure. “I think my peers would agree?”  
  
“I find the idea most agreeable,” the Makron of Tongues echoed. “It will allow the people of the Exitium the same, as well - we are all experiencing a, how to say, culture shock, perhaps. Everyone benefits from the agreement. We can set up application processing centres quite quickly in the hangar you have provided to us - and our many scribes are no doubt eager to put their minds to work again.”  
  
“If possible,” Councilor Sparatus interjected cautiously, “we hoped to send a contingent of fighting forces as well. Military or mercenary, if we are to come to terms with this newfound ‘demonic’ enemy of yours - of ours - we will need expert combatants and tacticians of our own.”  
  
“Of course. It would be foolhardy for you,” Ambassador Goyle mused, “to merely hope for our protection. There will come a time when we cannot protect you - not because we do not want to, but because the forces of Hell will no doubt find a way to separate or divide our ability to present a unified front. It is our belief that, with time, your warriors should - will - become as capable as our own, and indeed we are just as excited at the prospect of what your own masters of martial matters will share with us.”  
  
Faenmoch hummed with evident glee. “Yes, yes, this I have heard, from both those who support our ambassadorial delegation directly and from the soldiers who remain most aboard our ship. They, and I, wonder at the sorts of tactics and weaponry your people will devise. We are an insular people - we have had little exposure, if any, to external forces in the history of the Exitium besides Hell. What cruel weapons will your people forge? What forms of slaughter will your people imagine? And,” Faenmoch added, jaws clacking with excitement, “what horrors can we unleash upon the demonic host when we put our minds together and stand shoulder-to-shoulder as comrades on the front line?”  
  
There was silence, for a moment.  
  
Saren coughed.  
  
“Uh. Yes, of course,” Councilor Sparatus replied uneasily. “That is the goal. Of course our requirements for these applications must necessarily be somewhat strict - we have no desire to flood the Exitium with a horde of the Citadel’s people, especially not any of its darker elements. We’ve already drafted a basic set of rules regarding who would be forbidden from travelling to the Exitium at this time - I’m sure you can imagine that we’d be less than fine with sending wanted criminals or unsupervised children, for example.” The turian Councilor paused, swiped through a few menus on his omnitool, and a series of projections appeared before the Exitium’s ambassadors. “We’ve also drafted a quick list of things we’d hope any potential applicants to this program would be provided and what they would be allowed to do. Of course we would expect our people to do some sort of work - this is, after all, not a vacation program.”  
  
The ambassadors scanned the list for a few minutes, and ultimately it was the Makron who answered. “This is more than acceptable by our standards. In truth, we had not expected a desire for your people to labour while in the Exitium, but a hand idle is a hand wasted, it is said. While we have no such draft for you to examine at this time, our assumption was that we would treat any new arrivals to our space with the same courtesies we extend to our own citizens - food and shelter are always taken care of, for no soul should go hungry or sleep without a roof over their head. We would provide assistance to those seeking work - and training in our forms of war for the soldiers, naturally. We would give the same medical care to your people our own would receive - spiritual wards and the like - with their consent, and only after we determine the safety of such things, though our experience in Chalua Hospital would seem to imply no problems on that specific matter.”  
  
“You mention work once again,” Councilor Tevos noted. “And you do not mention any trouble - which brings me to my next question. Will there be no...issue, with people from Citadel space taking work normally done by the Exitium’s own citizens? Of course I imagine your...war economy, as you said previously, has great needs, but even so…” She trailed off, waving at nothing in particular.  
  
“Oh, there is no cause to worry,” Anita said, smiling widely. “Gaia is quite safe, to be sure - there are only one or two demonic incursions there per year across the whole planet, and we think it little more than a token form of spite from Hell’s masters. Away from Gaia, however - especially beyond the core Sanctuary Worlds that we can protect best - death rates are quite high,” she explained with no loss of cheer.  
  
Saren’s focus sharpened.  
  
“Thus, there really is no shortage of work available for those who wish to labour, whether by hand or with their minds. The day we left, our scribes believed the total number of daily deaths not attributable to old age or some otherwise preventable accident to be around ten million - nearly a record low.”  
  
“Oh? Ten million? That is indeed something to behold,” the Makron said, the cabling beneath his robes rustling slightly.  
  
“Pardon my interruption,” Saren interjected, raising a hand. “Permission to speak, Councilors?”  
  
The councilors, wide-eyed and silent, nodded at him.  
  
Saren cleared his throat before speaking. “You mean to say that the equivalent of the entire Citadel’s population was wiped out in the Exitium two days ago, at your best estimates, correct?”  
  
“I was not aware of the total populace which call the Citadel home, but if so, then yes, Spectre Arterius, that would be correct,” the Makron confirmed.  
  
“And this is, by your standards, a _record low_ ,” Saren continued, his tone, somehow, holding together.  
  
“Absolutely! Ah, apologies, I will avail myself of my projection-eye. A moment.” The Makron withdrew his right eye once more - Saren was proud to say that this time his discomfort was only slightly less visceral - and allowed it to project a series of graphs and charts. “As you can see here, casualties and deaths attributed directly to the War Eternal have actually been quite low over the course of the past five years, with the daily average hovering somewhere around fifty million souls lost.”  
  
“It has been a good time for the Exitium,” Faenmoch added, his lower jaws easing open in a smile. “Perhaps you can confirm the details, Makron, but when I was Redeemed and first took my place in the Exitium’s holy ranks, the fighting was somewhat fiercer than it is today - I recall the number being around seven hundred million deaths per day?”  
  
“A moment.” The Makron’s body twitched several times, and the charts were replaced with fresh ones, confirming Faenmoch’s claims. “Ah. As you can see here, Faenmoch recalls his early days with a bit of exaggeration - in the 24th, the Age of Swords, our daily losses amounted to closer to six hundred eighty million per day. Even so, the past five ages have been kind to us. None of us were alive to see the previous defense of Gaia, and of course records from these eras cannot be entirely trusted.”  
  
“You - ah - I recall your provided timeline,” Councilor Tevos stated slowly; Saren could see the muscles in her hands were tensed beneath the table. “The Nineteenth Age of Retreat?”  
  
“Mmm. A dark time, indeed. I do not have the chart loaded into my current modules, so you shall have to take my word, but the death toll then was around six billion per day on average, with one day in particular during Gaia’s defense hitting the twelve billion mark. In any case,” the Makron said, retrieving his eye and shoving it back into its socket, “we are getting off track. Many people in the Exitium are claimed by the War Eternal, and so it is that there is never any shortage of things to do, work to be done, people to fill vacant positions! I assure you,” the Makron said, beaming, “the people of the Exitium will welcome any labourers, scribes, warriors and the like with open arms.”  
  
Saren did not pay attention to the rest of the meeting.  
  
Saren, who was no stranger to facing his own mortality, thought nothing of such things. _Everyone dies someday,_ his mother had said at the funeral of his grandfather. _Of course I want your grandfather to be here still,_ she’d said as she’d cried and embraced him, _but we all have our time to go. All we can do is face it when it comes, smile, and think back on all the things we did when we lived._  
  
But, Saren knew, he was not like other people - he was not other people.  
  
Most people - turian or otherwise - had not accepted their inevitable deaths. Most of the soldiers he’d trained with had not, either; they were usually there because they had to be, because service was mandatory. Some of those soldiers, generally the ones who were looking to make a career in the Turian Armed Forces, did come to terms with their mortality, and Saren hadn’t known a single one of the Blackwatch Operators who’d been his second family before becoming a Spectre who wasn’t ready to lay down their lives in a moment’s notice.  
  
Death did not scare Saren.  
  
The deaths of the people it was his duty to protect was something else entirely.  
  
 _Ten million, a good number._  
  
He clenched his hands, unclenched them, tried with all his might to imagine how he would react to the thought of the Citadel - the entire Citadel - slain in a single day, every day, for a week. For a month. For a year. A decade. A century. A millennia.  
  
Forever.  
  
He could not.  
  
He could not imagine what he would think in that situation. What he would do. What he would not be willing to do to stop that from happening. It was impossible.  
  
For a moment, he was a _very_ young man again, knee-deep in the muck of some marsh outside a terrorist stronghold as artillery fell around them and gunfire kept their heads close to the water; his armour was torn in several places, his shielding could barely hold a charge, and his team had been cut down from two dozen operators to three - and he was, for the first time since joining the TAF - since joining Blackwatch, ready to accept his death at that moment.  
  
“Get it together, Saren,” Captain Auxios had shouted at him, tearing his carbine out of the swamp’s depths and shoving it back into his hands. “We’re not dead yet and neither is the enemy! Think, calculate, kill!”  
  
 _Think._ The Exitium faced an unspeakable number of deaths per day. It had done so for fifty thousand years, and would, in all likelihood, continue to face these numbers - at minimum - for the foreseeable future, perhaps even forever.  
  
 _Calculate._ The Exitium knew this, and it kept going forward. Fifty thousand years of inconceivable loss, and it kept going forward. It had not even descended permanently into madness; the Age of Sin had ended (even if it had, according to them, taken their own god’s intervention to do so) and here it was, facing their impossible task with smiles on their faces.  
  
 _Kill._  
  
His mind was made up.  
  
The meeting ended, the ambassadors went their way, and the shaken Councilors looked at him, expressions going from calm masks to horrified, empty gazes. They said nothing for a minute; they did not have to.  
  
He unclenched his fists, breathed deeply, and - it was not a smile, but his expression returned to normal.  
  
“Permission to join the delegation to the Exitium as a warfare specialist liaison, Councilors? If these numbers are even remotely close to the truth,” Saren said with calm that he somehow felt flooding into his veins, “we’re going to need experts, and I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that even as a Spectre my performance has been exemplary. We need as much expertise as is possible to learn, and we needed it yesterday.”  
  
Councilor Sparatus’ expression stiffened for a moment before it cooled into something as hard as starship armour.  
  
“Permission granted, Spectre.”


End file.
